Unspoken Truths
by Tears of Ebon-Grey
Summary: For so long, she had done what others had expected of her and not what she had wanted. She'd blindly done everything in her power to make the ones she loved happy, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness...People can change, as can a heart .:SBHG:.
1. Three Steps Behind

**Author's Note: **_First, I would like to thank you for taking the time to look at this story. This isn't my first fanfiction but it is the first I have posted, so I am a tad anxious. I won't be making any promises about updating regularly because sometimes things just come up and life gets in the way. I am also concentrating on an original story so that will also play a big part in whether I can update this story on a regular basis. I will, however, try my best. This is a work in progress. _

_Okay, so a few things you should know about this story before you start reading it. This is a Sirius/Hermione fic but the first couple of chapters are Ron and Hermione. Not because I like the couple, god knows I think their being a couple was the worst thing Rowling could have done, but because it fits in with the story._

_This chapter sets the scene. Where they are, what they're doing and what has happened since the end of the war. Chapter two is a sort of build up and chapter three will be where Sirius comes into the story. After that, I don't have a clue what will happen so bare with me. _

_Enough rambling! Read, enjoy and please review. Criticism is welcomed but not the burning kind._

* * *

**.: Chapter One – Three Steps Behind :.**

Thursday, November 1, 2004

_12:35PM_

Hermione couldn't understand it. _Why the persistence? Why the collaboration?_ It wasn't as if she hadn't planned on coming here herself. She simply hadn't had the time or the opportunity. With her work being as hectic as it was, it was a wonder in itself that she was here even now. Why they saw it as their _duty_ to drag her here on her lunch break, she had no idea. It wasn't as if she didn't appreciate all the effort they had gone to, to get her here because she did, she did appreciate it, but the simple fact was that it _should_ have been her choice, her decision to come here; not theirs. It wasn't the first time they had banded together to coerce her into action and she was sure that it wouldn't be the last. It was like they felt obliged to give her a little push to speed things up, to make _her_ faster in her decisions and less indecisive. _If only they knew. _One of them did, but it seemed that even now that didn't matter so much.

"Come now dear, don't dawdle. You can't stand there _all_ day staring at your own reflection. Let's see what it looks like!" Hermione couldn't help but think that Molly Weasley's abilities far exceeded mere magic, she would even go as far to say, that at times, it was as though the woman could see through walls. In this case, it was the curtain of the changing booth.

"Molly, I don't think I like this one," she said with a slight grimace, turning so that she could see the back of the dress. "It – it doesn't seem to fit me properly and, and I don't think it is exactly the type of dress that suits me. It's not that it's not beautiful – it's just not my style – is all,"

"Oh come now, it can't be _that_ bad dear. It looked rather stunning on the rack, you said so yourself," Hermione liked simple, uncomplicated and elegant, not extravagant or excessively detailed. It wasn't as if she could deny saying it had looked nice, but her words had been merely for the purpose of satisfying Mrs Weasley's constant comments on how _lovely_ the dress looked. She knew that there would be no way of getting out of this. It was either go out willingly or be dragged out by one, or all of the three women who were currently waiting for her on the other side of the curtain.

"Hermione, love, are you alright in there?" the tentative voice of her mother would normally have soothed any irrational fear she had, for the woman, though exceptionally temperamental, was extremely affectionate when it came to her daughter. For some reason it seemed to only aggravate her fear further.

For a Gryffindor, fear was supposed to be inconsequential. It was supposed to be nothing more than a speed bump. Something that could be easily overcome, or faced simply because their blind courage made it so. Fear could be rational, or irrational. It could be heart-breaking or absurdly uplifting once faced but for Hermione, fear was so much more. For Hermione, fear was in an object. It was in an emotion, an act, but most of all, it was in a person. To overcome her fear it would mean to forgive, accept and look past suspicion. It would mean she would have to learn to trust the one person who had betrayed her, the one person who in her mind, she could never fully trust again.

They didn't know, at least not all of them. For that she was grateful. She didn't want Molly or her mother to know. If they did, questions would be asked and answers would have to be given. To answer those questions a second time, even though the last had been three years ago, she didn't think she had strength enough for it. _What they don't know won't hurt them. _She could be called a hypocrite for the amount of times she had insisted that honesty was the most important thing in a relationship, whether it was honesty between lovers, friends, siblings or parent and child. Nonetheless, this was one thing that she would keep to herself no matter the cost. Resolutely, albeit somewhat unenthusiastically, she sucked in her breath and did the only thing she could do considering the situation. She opened the curtain.

Had she been able to answer her mother's question, she probably would have told her the truth. She wasn't fine, she wasn't happy, she didn't want to be here and if it came down to facing a giant basilisk rather than this, she would choose the basilisk. Fortunately, Molly Weasley's delighted shriek seemed to distract everyone, including her mother for which she was sure, had she taken one look at her, would have known something was wrong.

"Oh!" the portly woman who she had come to think of as a second mother seemed to be delighted beyond all belief with the gown, or more the sight of her in it. "You look absolutely stunning! Beautiful! Doesn't she look beautiful Brenda?" Hermione prayed to god that her mother didn't choose this moment to disagree with Molly Weasley. Despite their being in cahoots with one and other, along with Ginny, her mother had very similar taste to her own and the dress, in her eyes, was hideous.

"Hermione dear, you look – delightful," she could have laughed had it not been for Molly's gushing reel of compliments. Her mother hated the dress. From her pinched expression, to the strain in her voice from trying to remain civil, Hermione could tell that she hated this overly frilly, lace ridden, excessively detailed to the point of it being painful, wedding gown, just as much as she did. That, at least, was some comfort.

"Mum, you've got to be kidding me, she looks like a giant bloody marshmallow!" at this she did laugh. Leave it to Ginny to speak the truth, no matter how blunt she was about it. Age certainly hadn't diminished the redhead's capability, or rather talent, at expressing herself and her opinions in a way that could often make even the most cool and collected break into a grin.

At age 24, the redhead had made a name for herself, not only from her exceptional talents as one of the Daily Prophet's best but from her 5 year marriage to Harry Potter, to which was still going strong despite the tabloids constant reports of there being 'trouble in paradise'. The couple had been the center of much unwanted publicity ever since the end of the war, to which Rita Skeeter could take all the credit. After many callous accusations against the redhead's fidelity and intentions, Harry finally conceded to an interview with a more reputable journalist. His response to which was nothing but astounding. Amongst personally condemning Rita Skeeter for illegally gaining information on his private life, Harry had openly scorned her for being nothing more than a nosey, untalented and extremely unattractive hag who seemed to have no restrictions when it came to invading people's personal lives. Needless to say, the interview had caused more harm than it had good, but then that wasn't to say it hadn't fulfilled its purpose. To say that Rita Skeeter had gotten off lightly for being exposed as an unregistered animagus would be the lie of the century. The woman had been stripped of her job, publicly humiliated and her reputation as a reporter destroyed all in a matter of minutes. As far as Harry was concerned, Rita Skeeter had gotten everything she deserved and more.

"Ginevra Weasley!" came the appalled shriek as Mrs Weasley rounded on her daughter, her face slowly turning a bright shade of scarlet.

"Honestly mum, I don't see what the problem is," the unabashed redhead replied, casually leaning against the windowsill, staring down at her nails, "I was simply giving Hermione my opinion of the dress," pausing momentarily, she looked up and glanced in her direction with an amused expression, "You can hardly reprimand me for that. I was simply being honest. The dress _does_ make her like an oversized snow beast – or was it marshmallow?" Ginny finished shamelessly, eyes twinkling with a mischievousness that only the Weasley twins could match.

"Opinion?" Mrs Weasley started slowly, trying to figure out the best way to approach her daughter's outright shamelessness. "Opinion!" she repeated, her voice rising dangerously high. The color in her cheeks flushed a darker shade of red. "You, Ginevra, give your opinion _so_ readily, yet the implications never seem to bother you!" seethed a near murderous Molly Weasley as she pointedly yelled at her increasingly uninterested daughter. "I am sick of your opinions Ginevra! Sick of them! What did I do to deserve this?" screeched the woman, oblivious to the crowd that was gathering around the duo, eager to watch the conflict pan out. "I am asking you, Ginevra, what did _I_ do to deserve a daughter who has the sweetest most caring temperament, when she wants to, but instead chooses to be opinionated, disrespectful, moody –"

"Pregnant," Ginny added nonchalantly, lifting her eyes to watch her mother's rant.

"Obnoxious, arrogant, petulant, insuff –" the older woman stopped mid-sentence, looking at her daughter for the first time since she had begun her tirade of abuse. "W-what did you say?" she asked meekly, her eyes wide in astonishment.

"I said," Ginny began, straightening herself so she could look at her mother properly, "_Pregnant."_

Hermione had never been able to understand the volatile, if not unpredictable dynamic that associated itself with Mrs Weasley and her daughter's relationship. The erratic change from friendly to hostile was almost a given when either woman entered a room the other occupied and vice versa. They could be fighting one moment and hugging the next, or laughing at something the other said, but screaming insults not a moment later. They were unpredictable and uncensored, erratic and impulsive, but for the most, they were mother and daughter. It was a relationship that Hermione had tried to analyze countless times, each without result. In the end, she just gave up trying to do the impossible. Theirs was a relationship _no one_ could understand.

Within a second the previously rolled up magazine that had been brandished like a weapon at the young mother-to-be, was up in the air, a frenzied shriek of delight escaping the older woman's mouth. In one swift motion, Molly Weasley launched herself at her daughter, tears of joy slowly making their way down her face. Accompanied by Ginny's infectious laughter that filled the room, the moment would have been perfect had it not been for her stomach twisting into knots at the revelation of her friend's expecting, yet again, another little bundle of joy.

She should have been happy but for some reason she wasn't. All her friends were successful in their jobs, much like herself, but she couldn't help but feel as though she was three steps behind when it came to family. Almost all of them were married with children, or expecting, and if they weren't then they were blissfully happy being single. She fit into neither category. At times, she couldn't help but think that there was something wrong with her. She had every opportunity at happiness but she chose to bypass it, postpone it, or sometimes she even refused to acknowledge that the opportunity was there. It was hardly a normal reaction.

Forcing a smile, she walked over to congratulate the proud mother-to-be but was stopped short as a hand clasped around her wrist. Turning around, she was surprised to see her mother's grim expression staring back at her. Without acknowledging why she had stopped her daughter from congratulating her friend, she gently pulled Hermione toward the changing booth, away from all the commotion.

"Mum?" as much as she tried, Hermione couldn't conceal the nervous waver in her voice.

"Hermione, I know when something is wrong," Hermione started to object but the look in the older woman's eyes told her that it would be futile not to let her finish. "I know you better than anyone else. You can't deny that sweetie. That's why I _know_ that something is wrong," affectionately, Mrs Granger tucked a stray curl behind her daughter's ear before continuing. "You looked miserable. Not only when you came out of the changing booth, but when Ginny announced that she was pregnant. I would hardly be a good mother if I didn't notice my own daughter's unhappiness, now would I?"

"Mum, I –" she couldn't talk about this, not now, not to her mother. "I have to go."

"What?"

"I have to get back to work. I promise I'll call you later – I just really have to go," hastily kissing her mother on the cheek, Hermione made a dash toward the changing booth before her mother's disapproving look changed into a hardened glare. She could call herself a coward later, but for now, the only thought that occupied her mind was the prospect of getting as far away as possible. Perhaps then, the guilt and sense of failure wouldn't be so strong.

_7:21PM_

If it was possible, her day had gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. When she had left work earlier that day, she had left feeling confident that things would remain relatively quiet like they had been all morning. What she returned to was a far cry from the calm she had hoped for. Apparently some idiots on the second floor had thought it beneath them to attend to a small child, who seemed to have nothing more than a tickle in her throat. A tickle that soon turned into a series of vicious coughing fits, among which was shortly followed by a nasty rash that generally occurred when one had the dragon pox. Of course they had let the child wander around the ward while they had more _important_ things to attend to, namely catching up on the latest gossip and rumors that were circulating around the hospital. Now, because some stupid interns thought they knew better than their superiors, the whole second floor had been sectioned off from the public due to a mass outbreak of dragon pox among its patients. Even though she didn't work on the second floor, she had been paged to help deal with the outbreak. Her day had gone from bad, to worse, to disastrous, in what felt like the longest minutes of her life. Needless to say, she was not in the best of moods.

She was so tired, beyond tired really. All she wanted to do curl up in her favorite armchair, with a good book, in front of a crackling fire and just wind down. It seemed she wasn't even aloud that. Almost as soon as Hermione walked through the door, all hopes of the lazy evening she had planned vanished as laughter met her ears.

"Ron, you better not have your feet on the coffee table," she called out, glancing over her shoulder as she heard the distant echo of feet hitting the floor and the television's volume decrease rapidly. Silently groaning at the prospect of the evening that was now lost to her, Hermione unbuttoned her coat before continuing. "I thought you had training tonight, did Roberts cancel it?"

"Nah, Crewson broke his arm showing off to some girl in the stands. Idiot fell off his broom while trying to attempt the wronsky feint one handed. He ended up knocking himself out cold. Roberts had to take him to Mungos to get his arm fixed up and it was pointless to practice with only one chaser, so training was cut short."

"Well it serves him right for being as careless as he was. He could have done a lot more damage than a broken arm and a mild concussion," she ground out, pulling off her gloves and setting them on the mahogany table beside her.

It was so like Crewson to act without prior thought to the consequences or bodily harm that could come about from his antics. Despite being an idiot in the common sense department, Crewson was one of the best chasers Quidditch had seen in years; why he was attempting the wronksy feint, she had no idea. Puddlemere United had been devoid of talent for decades, its club had never been able to afford anyone of a high standard, nor anyone with much talent. That all changed when an investor decided that enough was enough. With a new boss, new coach, new uniform and new outlook, the team had since thrived and become one of the best in the league. Ron, whose love of the Chudley Cannons had lessened dramatically since his school days, jumped at the chance to play as Puddlemere's new keeper when the club's president had offered him the position. It had been almost five years to the day since he had joined the team and Hermione could honestly say that despite her dislike of the game, she had come to appreciate it more, mainly due to the considerable attributes it had in shaping one's physique.

"It was bloody brilliant to watch though,"

"I'm sure watching someone plummet toward the ground and knock themselves out was absolutely riveting," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes in the process. Hanging her coat on its rack, Hermione turned and walked down the hallway, glancing at the familiar photographs, muggle and magical, that were scatter across the walls.

"You didn't see Crewson in the emergency ward?" Ron asked, choosing to ignore her previous comment.

"There was a mass outbreak of dragon pox on the second floor," sidestepping Ron's training bag that had been dumped on the floor, she made her way toward the kitchen. "The place was like a madhouse. I had to go down and help contain the worst of it, which took about two hours," she continued absently, pouring herself a cup of coffee in the process. "Then there was the paperwork to get through and it certainly didn't help that I was an hour late,"

"_You_ were late?" he seemed more shocked than curious; something that tickled her nerves more than it should have.

"You sound surprised," she commented offhandedly, moving to take a seat opposite him in the armchair.

"Hermione," he started, looking away from the television briefly to look at her. "Since when are you _ever_ late?"

"Considering I was practically kidnapped by your mother and dragged into central London to go dress shopping, I think I have a good enough reason to be late _once_ in my life," she snapped irritably, tucking her legs up underneath her. She knew she shouldn't have snapped but to be fair, her day had been horrible; all she wanted was some peace and quiet. Feeling slightly guilty at the look that crossed Ron's face after her prickly answer, she added softly that she was sorry; she'd just had a bad day. Silence followed.

"Ginny's pregnant," feeling the need to break the uncomfortable silence that now surrounded them, Hermione couldn't help but blurt out Ginny's good news, hoping that it would lighten the mood, if only a little. For a moment, she thought he hadn't heard her because he gave no response, but after what seemed a minute he reached for the remote and turned the television off.

"Harry told me," he replied, his voice oddly detached. "He also told me that Ginny, mum and Brenda planned on taking you shopping for your wedding dress today – as a surprise," absently Ron lifted his hand to run it through his hair, like he often did when he was at a loss of what to do, or say. "You know," he started slowly, spacing his words out as if it was an effort just to say them, "sometimes I can't help but wonder if you aren't just trying to put this wedding off as long as possible. It's like – it's like you don't want to get married."

What was she supposed to say to that, when she herself didn't know the answer? Everyone expected them to get married, have children and live happily ever after. People wanted the fairytale, the happy ending. Everyone wanted the glass slipper to fit, no matter if it was too small or too big, it had to fit. People wanted Snow White to find her prince. They wanted good to conquer evil and they wanted Wendy's journey to Never-Never Land. Everyone wanted the fairytale ending. Molly Weasley wanted to plan her youngest son's wedding. Arthur Weasley wanted to walk her down the isle. Ginny wanted a sister. Harry wanted his two best friends to finally be the family he never had and Ron wanted her to be his wife, but what did she want? That was the one question she had no answer for. _What do I want?_

For as long as she could remember, Hermione had always known what she wanted out of life, but now, she knew nothing. For so long, she had done what others had expected of her and not what she had wanted. She had blindly done everything in her power to make the ones she loved happy, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. She acted for others and not herself, but that didn't answer the question that now plagued her mind; _what do I want?_

"Ron, you know that's not it," unwrapping her legs from their curled up position underneath her, Hermione forced her tired limbs to move as she slowly made her way toward the couch. "You _know _that I love you –"

"But?" came the hollow reply.

"But," biting down nervously on her bottom lip, she tried to find the right way to word what it was she was about to say. "I feel like there is so much pressure being put on us to get married, that maybe we are doing this for the wrong reasons. Maybe we've forgotten why we wanted to get married in the first place," she waited for a reaction, but got none. "You know, maybe it's because of all the expectations everyone has that I am as hesitant as I am to make any decisions about the wedding," she paused, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before continuing. "I just – I need more time. You know what I'm like, I have to go over every little detail. I –"

"You always need more time," the harshness of Ron's voice made her freeze mid-step and look at him. By the pinched expression that marred his face and the way his fists were clenched in an effort to reign in his temper, Hermione could tell that he was standing on a knife's edge, ready to fall into a rage of ill-tempered accusations and hurtful lies. "It's _always_ more _time_. Five years ago, it was _more_ time. Two years ago, it was _more__time!_ Fuck, Hermione, you always need more time!" he yelled, standing up abruptly to look at her. "How much more time do you need now? What, another year? Maybe two? I mean, you would think that after _eight_ years in a relationship that you'd have all the time you need, but no, you have to have more don't you?" he paced back and forth, glancing at her every now and again, his eyes telling more than they meant to. "What do I have to do? Tell me, Hermione, what do I have to do?"

"Turn back time,"

"What?" he stopped abruptly and turned to look at her, his blue eyes full of confusion, anger and fear. He knew what she meant, he just didn't want accept the responsibility of owning up and facing the consequences of his actions. He had lost her trust a long time ago and with it a great deal of respect. Nonetheless, she had stood by him while he pretended that nothing was wrong. She had stood by him because she was afraid of the unknown, of what life would be like without him. He knew what she meant, but would he accept that perhaps it wasn't a matter of her not wanting to get married but rather, it was _he_ who she didn't want to marry. It wasn't because she didn't love him. It was because couldn't trust him.

"Don't pretend that you don't know what I mean Ronald," she snapped irately, taking a few steps toward him. "You know exactly what I mean," she continued, decidedly turning her back to face him, hiding the unshed tears that now prickled her eyes. "I love you, I can't and I won't deny that, but sometimes Ronald, I can't help but think that no matter how much I love you, I will always resent you for what you did – I can't trust you – and if I can't trust you than what hope of a healthy marriage do we have, honestly? What hope do we have of anything but constant suspicion?"

"I thought we put this behind us?"

"Obviously not," she replied tonelessly, while trying to steady her breathing.

"Hermione –"

"Just leave," she didn't want him to see her like this, she didn't want him to see her vulnerable.

"But –"

"Ron, please –" she begged, turning around to look at him imploringly. "You need to go." Silently, she watched as he made his way to the door. It was in that moment that she couldn't help but think that no matter how much they had shared together, it would never be enough. She wanted more.


	2. Beyond Darkness

**Author's Note: **_I am sure that the majority of you will figure this out but just so you know, when the time changes (eg. skips to night time) in this story, it will be represented simply by my writing what time it is _BUT_ when you come across this_ -- Insert a Time -- _it will not only represent a change in time but in _Pov_ also. I just thought I would state that so there is no confusion about the changes in this chapter compared to the last. _

_On a small note, thank you to _atruwriter, MidnightBlack07, Nymphie07, Slytherin-Lycan, Jenimi, ScarletWitch88, daytimedrama & SiriuslyLoveBound _for leaving some great reviews. _

_Please read, review and enjoy!_

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**.: Chapter Two – Beyond Darkness :.**

It was dark, always dark; never anything more, never anything less. It was just an endless void of nothingness, of shadows with poisonous words that sounded like honey to his ears. Always calling, always waiting, reaching, taunting and drawing him closer to the madness that threatened to consume what was left of his already unstable mind. Their voices were no more than shadowy whispers in the dark, haunting and hollow. They would call to him, sometimes begging for help, sometimes to lure him away from whatever hold he had on reality, but he always resisted, pushing their sickly sweet words of venom back into the darkness.

He had resisted their alluringly poisonous words for so long that he felt as though they were a part of him, embedded in his soul, scarring what little was untainted from the torments of his life. He had waited for what seemed to be a lifetime, but the reality of time, or rather the concept, seemed so foreign that he couldn't remember when it was that he had first entered such a state, a state of nothingness as it were. He felt no cold, no warmth. Not even the sinister caresses of the shadows were able to reach him anymore. He felt nothing. He could see nothing, taste nothing, remember nothing, but only he could hear every whisper in the dark.

He had waited, impatiently at times, but he had waited nonetheless. He had waited until the darkness was broken and light poured through. He had waited until he could not only hear, but remember, taste and see that there was more to life than the endless void of nothing he had been subjected to. He had waited for this moment, however unlikely it was that it should ever occur. He had waited until the day someone found him.

Friday, November 2, 2004

_5:03AM_

She was distinctly aware of the incessant tapping at her window. The fact that it was only 5:03 in the morning made it hard for her not to notice. Maybe if she ignored the owl long enough, it would give up and try to re-deliver its message at a more respectable hour. Only a fool could hope for such a thing. Groaning, she grabbed the nearest cushion and haphazardly threw it in the direction of the tapping; hopefully the bird would just give up. It was certainly stupid if it thought she was going to get up. It was far too early in the morning and as far as she was concerned, the bird and its owner could go to hell. Mumbling curses under her breath, Hermione rolled over and buried her head under the remaining couch cushion. Why couldn't it just go away? Owls were supposed to be intelligent creatures, so why was it that this particular owl refused to acknowledge that she was _trying_ to sleep?

After twenty minutes of non-stop tapping, Hermione was on the verge of actually getting up, not to get whatever it was the damn bird was so insistent on delivering, but rather to throw her shoe at it. Of course she wouldn't actually do it, but that didn't mean that she couldn't relish in the idea of shutting that pesky little creature up. _Tap, tap, tap……_ It was driving her insane, slowly but surely. I mean who in their right mind would send somebody an owl at this ungodly hour? Her conclusion was sound. Only a person who was sadistic, insane, or both, would think it was acceptable to send _her_ an owl at five in the bloody morning! She had never been a morning person, in fact, she hated morning people. At least, she hated them until she'd had her morning coffee, after that she was perfectly happy to like them. It was an unwritten rule that nobody crossed Hermione Granger until she had caffeine in her system. _Tap, tap, tap……_

"GO AWAY!" she yelled, throwing a cushion at the window, instantly regretting it. She now had no pillow to muffle the maddening sound that echoed throughout the silent room. She had a painful kink in her neck and her legs ached from being curled up in an awkward position all night, but she supposed that was the risk one took when choosing to sleep on the couch rather than the bed. Maybe if she ignored the bird a little longer. _Tap, tap, tap_...

Taking in a shaky breath, Hermione forced herself to sit up while restraining the over-whelming need to throw something sharp in the general direction of one extremely inconsiderate and annoying owl. Glaring pointedly at the unknown bird, Hermione began to stand up but was stopped short as a tiny ball of black fur landed unceremoniously in her lap. She snorted at the kitten's misguided leap, gently lifting the tiny fur-ball in one hand.

"What are you up to?" she asked laughingly, looking at the kitten's curious eyes move from her own to the owl outside. "Oh, so the tapping was annoying you too?" slowly the kitten tried to wriggle out of her hand, looking at the owl again and then back at her. "You can't take him, you're too little," by the undisguised look that crossed the little kitten's eyes, Hermione knew that Isis thought differently.

Isis, while incredibly tiny, thought she could take on the world and everything in it. With a judgmental and curious eye, the little kitten had caught Hermione's attention the moment she had walked into the shop. With sleek black fur and curious almond shaped eyes, the little kitten had captured the interest of many of the shop's customers. While only a kitten, Isis was most possibly the most intimidating animal Hermione had ever met, but it was the intelligence in those hardened eyes that compelled her to buy the black fur-ball. As strange as it may have seemed, Isis seemed to single her out. The kitten had pointedly looked at her and then at the cash register three times before Hermione had realized what she meant. While most people had thought it odd, impossible even, Hermione was convinced that this strange little kitten, whose judgmental air and calculating eyes, had an intelligence that surpassed mere instinct. After a short debate with the shop's owner over the price, Hermione had brought her furry little friend home, relishing in the fact that the kitten was far more playful behind closed doors than she had been in the shop.

"How about a little breakfast first?" she laughed, looking on as Isis tilted her head to the side. After wriggling free from her hand, the kitten jumped happily onto the hardwood floor, looking back at her impatiently.

Snorting at the cat's exasperated expression, Hermione made her way toward the kitchen, ignoring the tawny owl that followed her from window to window. The owl could wait as far as she was concerned. After pouring some milk into a small saucer for Isis, Hermione grabbed a bagel and began to butter it, waiting for the kettle to boil. Shortly after settling herself at the kitchen table with her bagel and coffee, she looked up to see that the tawny owl was still flying persistently outside her window, it just wasn't tapping. It never crossed Hermione's mind that perhaps the reason someone had sent her an owl at such an ungodly hour wasn't to irritate her but rather, to tell her something that not even she could fathom. She had never been one for logical thinking this early in the morning.

-- _6:36AM _--

Ginny watched helplessly as her husband paced the length of the hospital's private waiting room in an agitated silence. He hadn't said a single word all morning. His hair was sticking up at odd angles and despite his lack of composure, Ginny knew that he was handling the situation as best he could. Harry had never been one to speak openly about his feelings and she knew that today would be no exception. If there was one thing she knew about Harry, it was that if and when he was ready to talk, he would come to her. All she had to do was have a little patience.

"Mummy," a warm smile graced her lips as she felt a tiny hand grab at her own. Affectionately ruffling the already untidy mop of black hair that belonged to her son, Ginny placed a chaste kiss on the sleepy-eyed four-year-old's head. Yawning tiredly, the little boy snuggled closer, pulling his mother's arm around him. "Where ares we?"

James Sirius Potter was the spitting image of his father. With Harry's untidy black hair and unquestionable lack of respect for the rules, along with her dark brown eyes and temperament, James was often described by Remus as a mini James Potter in the making. At age four, the little boy had already been established as Fred and George's favorite nephew, mainly because he was an enthusiastic student when it came to all things mischievous. Her mother thought he was a little angel that could do no wrong. She knew differently. She blamed it on Fred and George of course. Harry found it exceedingly funny when James managed to change the sugar into salt whenever she went to make herself a cup of coffee. When his socks turned pink and were unchangeable, that was another matter entirely.

"We're at the hospital sweetie," she answered in a hushed tone, gently stroking her son's hair in the process.

"Why?" the reply was muffled as James buried his head into her shoulder, his tiny arms wrapping around her neck.

"Well," she started, tucking her auburn hair behind her ears. "One of daddy's old friends is here –"

"Did he get hurts like Uncle Charlie did and have to comes to the hos –" looking down she noticed the confusion in her son's eyes as he paused, trying to remember how he was supposed to pronounce the word.

"Hospital?" she added, watching as a smile spread across his face.

"Yes, that's the one!" he yelled in delight, bouncing up and down happily.

"James, you have to be quiet sweetie, there are people trying to sleep," worriedly looking around at the other occupants of the room, she was relieved to see that the majority of them were still too tired, or half-asleep to care about her son's outburst.

"Why?" he asked loudly, looking around the room with a keen interest. Glancing over at her mother, Ginny was relieved to see that the older woman was still half-asleep, her head resting contently against her father's shoulder. Looking back at her overly curious son, she opened her mouth to answer but was cut short as someone beat her to it.

"Because you're mother said so," Ginny looked up in surprise, her husband's voice echoing quietly around the room.

"Daddy!" the little boy yelled in undisguised delight as he wriggled out of her arms, launching himself at his father's legs. She couldn't help but smile at her son's antics.

With the ease of a Quidditch player, Harry hauled the little boy up into his arms, chuckling quietly as James started to ramble excitedly in his ear about nothing and everything. They were so alike, in more ways than one. James was a fast learner and it was almost a given that the boy knew how to do things he shouldn't. Both Harry and James had similar mannerisms even though the boy was only four years old. It was one of those things that no matter how many times you saw it, it made you laugh or stare in wonder. They ate their toast the same, eating all the crust on the outside before indulging in the rest. They both slept on their stomach, heads buried in their pillows. They stood the same, shifting from one leg to the other when they were nervous. Nearly everything about James was a mirror image of his father; the only obvious difference was their eyes.

"Why don't you go practice that new trick you learned on Uncle Ron," inclining his head toward her brother, Ginny bit back a laugh, looking over to where the redhead was sound asleep, slumped in the hospital's armchair and snoring loudly. James looked over his father's shoulder and seemed to consider the idea thoroughly, a small frown on his face as though he were weighing up the pros and cons of pranking his Uncle Ron. As quickly as the frown appeared on her son's face it vanished, only to be replaced by a mischievous grin. Wriggling out of his father's arms, James took off at lighting speed to where his unsuspecting Uncle lay snoring. She knew she should be trying to stop and reprimand him, but where was the fun in that?

"And what new trick has our son learned that I don't know of?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at her husband's lopsided grin. Shrugging dramatically, Harry slumped down in the chair beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder comfortably. Refusing to let the subject drop, she swatted at his arm, giving him a stern look even though there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. "The trick, Harry?"

"Damned if I know!" he laughed. "Probably some new prank Fred and George taught him," scowling, she looked at the identical redheads dozing lazily in separate armchairs near the door. As hard as she tried, she couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face as she glanced at her son who was tiptoeing closer toward his Uncle. For some reason, she liked the fact that her son was a prankster. She would never admit it though.

"And you would place poor unsuspecting Ron in the middle of it?" she asked laughingly, matching her husband's grin.

"Better him than me," laughing at the playful twinkle in his eyes, she swatted at his arm, grinning impishly. No matter the circumstances, he always managed to make her laugh.

"You're just as bad as he is," she sighed, nudging his shoulder and pointing to where their son was crouched inconspicuously behind a decorative fern, his eyes fixed solely on his Uncle Ron. "But," she began, turning around to look him in the eye. "I wouldn't want you any other way," leaning forward, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before laying her head contentedly against his shoulder. The comfortable silence lasted a while; interrupted every now and then by the muffled sounds of their loved ones snoring quietly in their sleep, with the exception of Ron whose snores were anything but quiet. "You okay?" she asked quietly, wrapping her arm possessively around his waist, snuggling closer.

"Yeah," his despondent sigh caused her to look up inquiringly. The pensive look that marred his normally playful eyes did not go unnoticed. He smiled weakly down at her, eyes telling her everything she needed to know. He wasn't okay, in fact, he was far from it. She couldn't force him to tell her what he was feeling. He would tell her when he was ready. Slowly, she rested her head against his chest, taking comfort in his warm embrace and silently hoping that he would talk sooner rather than later. "It's just –" he started, fingers twirling around the strands of her hair. "It's just a bit much, you know? I mean –"

"I know," she cut in soothingly. "We all thought he was dead," she continued, lacing her fingers with his own. "We mourned him and everyone else that we have ever lost, but you know what? I think that rather than questioning this –" momentarily she paused, tilting her head so she could look into her husband's eyes. "I think that rather than questioning why this has happened, we should be celebrating the fact that it has. Moments like these hardly ever come around twice in a lifetime, let alone once."

"I knew there was a reason I married you," Harry said quietly, looking down at her with a warm smile that made her insides melt.

"Apart from my amazingly good looks, sharp wit and delectable cooking I do not have the faintest idea of what you mean Mr Potter," she said, her voice mockingly indifferent. Raising an eyebrow at her husband's wayward grin, Ginny went to say something but stopped short, a disheveled blur of red and black catching her eye; the only distinguishable feature being the mass of unruly brown curls that trailed behind the figure as it sped past the door and out of sight in a matter of milliseconds.

"What is it?" shaking her head, Ginny looked up at her husband whose dazzling green eyes were staring worriedly down at her. Opening her mouth to speak, she was cut short, a loud shriek erupting beside them, successfully waking every occupant in the room.

Jolting at the sudden sound she whipped around, her hand flying up to cover her mouth instantly as she tried to suppress the laughter that was bubbling inside her. Glaring murderously around the room, Ron stood, shaking with anger and embarrassment as he clutched at his top, then at his pants. Her mother was laughing as was everyone else. Glaring, Ron's face turned a darker shade of red, eyes searching desperately for the culprit. Pink was definitely not his color. Snickering, she eyed James hiding underneath a chair in the corner, looking on in gleeful delight at his handiwork. Shaking her head she turned back to the scene unfolding as Ron stormed out of the room, his hot pink pants and baby pink shirt flashing brilliantly as he turned the corner.

-- _7:04AM _--

Pushing her way past the inquisitive interns huddled together in the hallway, Hermione all but ran down the bustling corridor, the rhythmic click of her black heeled boots resounding with each hurried step. The persistent urgency, with which the tawny owl had tried to deliver its letter earlier that morning with its incessant tapping, had finally got to her; the thoughtlessness and irrational idiocy of her actions made her flush in shame. It had taken a few minutes to fully register the enormity of the letter's contents. Now she was here, running frantically down the hectic corridor's of St Mungos, searching desperately for the door labeled _Black_. She'd hardly been able to utter a coherent word since she had discovered the news, let alone think logically about the situation. Being one of St Mungos resident healers, Hermione was sure that if she had taken the time to calm herself down and inquire as to the patient's whereabouts, she would have been there already. Normally she worked well under pressure, sometimes she excelled because of the added stress, but it seemed that today was an exception.

Gasping, Hermione reluctantly leant against the corridor wall, clutching at the stitch in her side as she tried to regain her breath. Falling in a dark sea of coffee brown ringlets, her hair acted as a blanket against the odd looks that were thrown her way while she leant desperately against the wall, gasping for air and muttering a string of curses under her breath. Tossing the elbow length hair over her shoulder haphazardly, she looked up, scanning the corridor and its occupants through narrowed eyes. Perhaps if she asked the right person. Each person seemed as insignificant as the last; all had a destination where she did not. The sea of lime green robes mixed with those of the visitors made it hard to identify any one person. It was far too early in the morning for it to be this busy, but then she supposed the outbreak of dragon pox had the hospital on its toes and the public overly cautious. Closing her eyes, Hermione leaned back against the wall, her elbows chafing uncomfortably against the rough surface as she tried to think logically about her current dilemma.

"You know, I think you've finally cracked," opening an eye, Hermione groaned. Pushing herself off the wall, she opened her eyes fully to glare at the smirking blonde.

"You know you look like your brother when you do that," she said, grinning at the effect her words had on her friend whose face now wore a horrified expression.

Miranda Wilkes was just like any other healer at St Mungos. Her hours were horrendous and her pay less than substantial. However, it was Miranda's personality that separated her from the rest; overly sarcastic with an odd sense of humor, she was surprisingly one of the sweetest women Hermione had ever met, considering her heritage and haughty demeanor. As the result of an affair, Miranda had never been fully acknowledged by her father, for the shame would have certainly been too much for him. Lucius Malfoy had too much pride and arrogance in him to admit to having a child with a woman other than his wife, especially when the child in question was born only ten days after his legitimate son. The young witch, whose pale blonde hair fell just below her collarbone, had never thought much of her father, in fact, she rather resented him. Miranda saw what her mother did not. The monthly payments were more a means to keep her mother quiet than anything else. He always visited once a year on her birthday, but he hardly staid for more than an hour. After her mother died, she had tried to get into contact with him but found that he was always too busy, or in a meeting. In the end she gave up, figuring that she would get no more than yearly visit and a monthly check out of him.

It was at the end of the war when a fair-haired man, ten days older than herself, turned up on her doorstep, his father's bank books tucked under his arm. Lucius Malfoy's secret was a secret no more. Initially the press had thought that Miranda was Draco's flavor of the month when the two had been seen dining in Diagon Alley. When asked by Rita Skeeter who his new mystery woman was, Draco had laughed off the question, saying that he wasn't dating anyone at the moment. Of course Rita had to point out that he had been captured having lunch with a pretty blue-eyed witch on several occasions. The paper, as well as Rita Skeeter had been mortified when they found out that Miranda was actually his sister.

During her internship, Hermione had always drawn the short straw when it came to shift work. It was during one of her nightly shifts when Hermione first met Miranda. The vivacious blonde was arguing heatedly with one of the resident healers that oversaw their internship at St Mungos, claiming that the healer's diagnosis of a patient was wrong. Intrigued, Hermione had looked at the patient's vitals and symptoms, coming to the same conclusion as Miranda. The healer was wrong. After that night, Hermione found that she had a new friend whether she wanted one or not.

"You're evil," muttered the blonde, glaring pointedly. "You do know that, don't you?" Laughing at the reproachful look in her friend's sapphire eyes, Hermione nodded with a grin.

"Hey Miranda, do you know where they're keeping –"

"Black?" the blonde cut in, looking oddly indifferent. Confused, Hermione nodded. "Follow me," Miranda sighed impatiently, obviously annoyed at the tedious task before her. She would have to remember to ask Miranda later.

Grabbing her hand, Miranda began to lead her down the corridor, turning left and right as though she knew the path off by heart. It seemed as though an age had passed before they stopped. Turning, Hermione faced the large oak door that loomed before her. Just as she was about to turn the handle, she stopped, Miranda's hand landing on her shoulder in warning.

"Change into your healer's robes. They're not letting anyone in who doesn't work for the hospital," whispered her friend, an encouraging smile on her face. Glancing down at her ruffled clothes, Hermione sighed, waving her wand briefly, changing the rumpled mess into pristine lime green robes. Reaching for the door handle, she felt oddly nervous but pushed the feeling away. Turning the brass knob, she opened the door.


	3. Hostile Greetings

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: **This chapter has been edited and a portion of it deleted at the end (Andora Guilstan storyline).

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Well, I can certainly say that this chapter was hell to write. It took me ages to get the concept of the chapter right but I eventually got it in the end. If there are any mistakes, I apologize. I don't have a beta, so this is all me and even though I re-read and re-write what ever I write about eight times, there are always small mistakes that get past me. So, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for. Sirius makes his grand entrance, in a not so friendly way. J.K didn't really go that in depth with Sirius' character, so I'm a little anxious. A part of the next chapter will be told from his point of view so I should have gotten the characterization down pat by then. _

_Thank you to _atruwriter, JessMess, SiriuslyLoveBound, caughtinblackseyes, Nikki-4, MidnightBlack07, googlibear, Je-Suis-Mauvais-Fille _&_ JustAGirl101 _for leaving some great reviews to keep me going. _

_Now, just so you know, I'm starting a new school tomorrow. I'm told that it's going to be hectic and since I'm taking Advanced English, Psychology, Business Administration, Advanced Maths and Graphic Design, I think I may be stretched for time. I can't make any promises on updating regularly, but I will try my hardest. _

_Don't forget – read and review, but most importantly, ENJOY! _

**.: Chapter Three – Hostile Greetings :.**

Friday, November 2, 2004

_7:24AM_

"Will you bloody well sod off!" a gruff voice ground out, gravely and hoarse.

Flinching at the hostility of the words, Hermione silently cursed herself for being so hasty. She should have waited. The hospital would have had its reasons for prohibiting visitors – wouldn't they? Retracting her hand from the brass doorknob, she quietly entered the room, pushing the door back into place with a low resounding click. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. Her hands were trembling and her heart racing. The hospital had to have had a reason to disallow visitors. She just hoped that it wasn't worse case scenario.

"If you bloody think that poking and prodding me like the last fucking healer is going to get you anymore fucking answers, than your wrong," jumping, Hermione whirled around, eyes narrowed at the man propped up in the hospital bed. Anger overshadowed all other emotion as her eyes landed on the shaggy haired man. _How dare he?_ Seething, Hermione slowly approached the bedside, her eyes never leaving the hardened grey that stared back at her with undisguised hate. She felt a pang of pity for the older man as the reality of his words began to sink in. They were interrogating him rather than treating him.

Quickly taking stock of his appearance, looking for any unhealed wounds, Hermione was shocked to discover that there was nothing physically wrong with him. His hair fell in shaggy disarray and his eyes were hauntingly hollow, their grey depths riddled with torment. He was also unhealthily skinny and the dark circles under his eyes showed a fatigue that went beyond the stretches of normality, but other than that there was nothing physically wrong with him. No fatal wounds. No minor cuts – nothing. _Why are they keeping you here?_

"I'm not –" rendered silent, she stared wide-eyed at the un-aged man.

"Bullshit," he growled aggressively, eyes flashing with hatred and mistrust. It hurt that he thought so little of her, but she could hardly blame him when all he saw was the lime green robes. To him, she was just another healer – maybe if she took another approach.

"You fell behind the veil in 1994," she said monotonously, hoping that the detached voice wouldn't provoke an outburst before she had said what was needed. He glared up at her but remained silent. There was a storm raging inside her, its icy anger threatening to rise. They hadn't told him. Forcing herself to remain outwardly calm, Hermione let her eyes fall shut. "It's 2004," she said quietly, hearing the words echo ominously around the silent room. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the disheveled man, her heart aching at the vulnerability she saw. "It's been ten years," her voice shook with emotion compared to the now bland look that held his eyes empty, shielding his deepest thoughts and emotions. Her heart broke for him. Everyone had their own defensive mechanism, this was obviously his.

Why had the hospital not told him this? Surely he had the right to know, the right to be aware of how drastically the world had changed and _why_ it had changed. What of the war? Did he know it was over? Did he know Harry had come out the victor? Did he know the death toll? Who had died? Had they told him _anything_?

Silently seething, she walked over to the window and rested her head against the cool glass. She hated it when they did this, when the hospital became nothing more than a business. It was more about a quick diagnosis and emptying the beds as fast as possible. They were all about profit, not patient care. She loved interacting with her patients, getting to know them and their families. The hospital did not. Sometimes it seemed too cold, too much like a business. With nothing physically wrong with him, Hermione couldn't figure out why Sirius was here. It had to benefit them some how – or the ministry. Since Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Minister of Magic and had been for the past six years, it was improbable that the ministry was behind this. Sirius's name had been cleared; Harry had made sure of that. But then why was he being held here for no reason? The only likely answer she could come up with was that Andora Guilstan, St Mungos Chief of Medicine, wanted him here. The million dollar question was why? The silence that had enveloped them was an uncomfortable one. Biting her lower lip, she glanced at the oaken door nervously. If the healer the hospital had intended to send walked in, then she would have some quick thinking and explaining to do.

"Why should I believe you?" turning around at the sound of his voice, Hermione noticed that his eyes, while piercingly suspicious, weren't as shielded as they had been before.

"Because you know me," she stated simply, tucking a few loose ringlets behind her ear, patiently waiting for his reaction. Brown met Grey as he looked at her properly, taking in her appearance for the first time, eyes full of confusion. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped short, his eyes dropping to the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed. Running a hand through his hair, Sirius glanced up at her, his gaze calculating. She could feel his eyes raking over her figure, trying to decipher the puzzle before him. Perhaps it would be better to tell him rather than torture him like this. Smiling at the perplexed look on his face, she chuckled quietly, deciding to give him a hint. "Snuffles," she watched in amusement as his eyes widened considerably.

"Hermione Granger?" his voice was hesitant but sturdy and his expression full of wonder. Smiling, she nodded, waiting for his reaction. She couldn't help but laugh as his eyes widened further, traveling down her body and up again before resting on her face. "Bloody hell!" his voice was a hushed whisper that barely reached her ears. "You're – but you're,"

"Twenty-five?" she added laughingly. He simply gulped and nodded. "As I said, it's been ten years. I mean Harry and Ro –"

"Harry!" realization dawned on the older man as he shouted his godson's name in hurried alarm. In a matter of seconds, the white sheets were thrown haphazardly on the floor and he was up, reaching for the door.

"Is fine!" she yelled breathlessly, launching herself at the door to block his departure. She had no doubt that the hospital would have some enchantment placed on the door, ensuring that the disheveled man couldn't leave. She couldn't risk it; if he triggered an alarm of some sort than she was stuffed. "He's fine," she said more insistently, eyes pleading with the grey opposite her.

Appeased slightly, he stepped back, eyes searching. He had questions and it seemed that she would be the one to give the answers. Sighing, she nodded toward the two vacant chairs by the window. Taking the hint, he quickly made his way over there, impatiently awaiting the answers he craved. Outwardly he looked as composed as a man could be considering his situation. She doubted he was as composed on the inside. Taking the seat opposite him, she waited. He could ask the questions – for now at least.

"Look," he started, glancing awkwardly out the window. "I know about as much as you do," his voice held a finality to it.

Obviously he didn't want to talk about what had happened to him and that was fine. She didn't expect him to. When she was fifteen, he had been exactly the same. Whenever anyone had tried to talk to him about Azkaban, he would clam up. He always avoided the tough subjects, preferring to reminisce about his Hogwarts days or talk about Quidditch. She never expected him to openly talk about whatever tortures he had gone through. He obviously didn't understand what she'd meant when she had silently indicated they talk. She wasn't asking questions, just answering them.

"Well that can't be much considering I haven't been told anything either," she stated calmly, quickly stealing a glance at the door. She was starting to get anxious. What would she say if someone came in? It wasn't like she was on duty. Her shift didn't start until five this afternoon and it wasn't as if she could say she'd come into work early – ten hours early? That would be ridiculous. "Technically I'm not supposed to be here," she said quietly, noticing the confused look on Sirius's face.

"You're not?" he asked surprised.

"I'm your regular rule breaker these days," she said jokingly, glancing back at the door. His barking laughter interrupted the nervous thoughts running amuck in her head. Looking back at the man, she couldn't help but smile. It was the first time since she had walked in this morning that she had seen even a glimmer of the man he had been ten years ago. "So what do you want to know?"

"Uh," he looked slightly confused, lost for words. He was probably contemplating where to start. It had been ten years after all. "The war?" he asked hesitantly.

"Ended about eight years ago," she said smiling. "Harry was the victor."

"Thank Merlin!" his whispered exclamation seemed to ease the tension in the air. He knew he could ask questions now. He knew she would tell him the truth, where the hospital had not. Suddenly his face turned pensive and she knew immediately what question he would ask next. "The death toll?"

"We won but at a great cost," biting her lower lip, she turned her head to look out the window. She hated remembering. "The devastation and loss of life was – well it was crippling to say the least. A lot of families became financially bankrupt and the streets were laden with homeless. We lost more people than we anticipated. One way or another, we all lost someone," a tear slowly made its way down her face. So many memories filled with bloodshed and death. She hated it. Her tears each held a memory of their own. Someone lost. Someone found. They all held memories.

"Who did you loose?" his tentative voice pulled her back to the present. Furiously wiping the stray tear from her face, Hermione took in a shuddering breath.

"My dad," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. He nodded in understanding, knowing that to talk would only bring more unwanted pain.

"Well, who did _we_ loose?" he asked, not changing the subject entirely but diverting it enough so she didn't have to talk about her father. She smiled weakly, thanking him silently for this small mercy.

"Mad-Eye," she started, taking in deep breaths to try and steady her shaking hands. "Mundungus," he grunted in response and she could hardly blame him. Mundungus wasn't exactly the most likeable person, or at least he hadn't been. "Percy Weasley,"

"Poor Molly," she nodded sadly at his whisper of regret.

"Snape," before he could say anything, she shot him a scathing look. "He died a hero. He may have done things that none of us understood but in the end, he was braver than all of us," she snapped defensively, knowing that the marauder would most likely of said something derogatory about the ex-potions professor. He looked doubtful but nodded nonetheless. "Tonks," she said shakily.

"Nymph?" he asked, eyes fearful, voice choked. She nodded, fighting to keep her tears at bay.

"She got married before she died," god knows why she was doing this. It would only cause more pain. Nonetheless, he had a right to know about his cousin. "She married Remus," she laughed sadly, remembering the metamorphmagus' blunder as she walked down the aisle.

"Ol' Moony?" his sad disbelief made her heart break. He'd missed his best-friend's wedding.

"Yeah," she replied shakily. "They had a son. Teddy's almost eight,"

"Who else?" his voice was unsteady. It was obvious that he was having a hard time digesting all the information she had just thrown at him. Merlin! What would it be like when he found out about Harry? There was only one other name she could tell him and she really didn't want to.

"Dumbledore," she whispered, barely audible.

"What!" his head snapped up to look at her, eyes clouded in shock.

"It's a long story and we don't really have that much time," her eyes pleaded with him to understand. She really didn't want to be the one to tell him about the great wizard's demise, besides; she'd thrown enough at him for the time being. The hospital would send someone by shortly and she sure as hell she didn't want either of them to be here when they did. "Sirius, I have to ask you this. Do you know why they're keeping you here?"

"No," he shook his head, not entirely sure of the sudden change in conversation.

"Okay," she nodded, looking over at the door and then back at the shaggy haired man. She could get fired for doing this, but considering the circumstances, she didn't give a shit. Once she had it in her head to do something, no one, not even Andora Guilstan could stop her.

_8:15AM_

"Excuse me, Nurse Hendricks. I have a patient that needs to be discharged immediately," she said forcefully, challenging the shrewd woman to call her bluff. She wouldn't deny that the old woman's sharp-eyed attentiveness unsettled her. Sure, she was observant by nature, but Old Bertha Hendricks was scarily so. She was like Mad-Eye Moody but without the glass eye. She always knew what was going on, whether it was a corridor away or in an entirely different department. It was only natural that Hermione was anxious. The last time someone crossed Bertha Hendricks, they hadn't come out unscathed.

"Would there be a specific reason for such a speedy departure, or are you like most healers and assume that the details are unimportant?" removing her round spectacles, Bertha gently rubbed the glass with the tail of her blouse, cleaning the lens. "There is of course the paperwork to consider Ms Granger," she stated matter-of-factly, looking up with a consenting glance. Hermione sighed in relief.

"Can you have Healer Wilkes paged?" she asked, glancing nervously down the corridor.

She hoped he hadn't done anything stupid. Maybe casting a disillusionment charm on the older man hadn't been her best idea. He had been insistent on coming with her and she could hardly say no to him. It was a moment of weakness, she would admit that much. He'd been through so much and it had seemed cruel to let him wait in that room longer than was necessary. She just hoped she'd made the right decision.

"Ms Wilkes is on her way," jumping slightly, Hermione turned to stare at the older woman. Bertha Hendricks was _never_ co-operative. Bertha generally went out of her way to make their jobs harder than they needed to be. The woman was feared and despised simply because she could ruin their careers in the blink of an eye. It was almost laughable. The wispy silver haired witch was actually _helping_ her!

"Thank you," she said, somewhat dazed by the revelation. "Uh – Bertha?" she didn't know whether she should take the risk or not.

"Standing right beside you dear," the older woman said, shuffling through the mass of paperwork on her desk, seemingly unaffected.

"Wha –" she would have screamed had it not been for the invisible hand that clamped over her mouth. It wasn't as if she didn't know who the invisible hand belonged to. I mean, what are the chances of their being two disillusioned men wandering the halls of St Mungos? No – it was more the shock of being tapped on the shoulder by someone you couldn't see. She must have looked like an idiot. "Shbbf," she tried to talk but found it was impossible. Narrowing her eyes, she elbowed the invisible man in the stomach, satisfied at hearing a pained grunt in response. As soon as the offending hand left her mouth, she whipped around, glaring into empty space.

"Actually, I'm over here," an amused voice sounded beside her. Taking in a shaky breath, she blatantly ignored Sirius's deep chuckle. He could laugh all he wanted. The idiot had scared the shit out of her! She was entitled to be a little angry.

"Do I want to know?" looking up, Hermione was relieved to see her friend leaning casually against the marble archway.

"No," she snapped, swatting at the unseen hand creeping up her arm. "Sirius, Merlin help me but I _will_ hex you!" she hissed, glaring pointedly at the disillusioned man laughing beside her. Huffing, she turned back to look at Miranda. "Don't ask," she snapped, her patience fraying.

"I assume I'm here for a reason," the haughty blonde drawled, an amused expression on her face.

"I need you to sign this discharge paper as the secondary healer," she said with a shaky breath, taking the blue sheet from Bertha's offered hand.

Merlin! Sirius was driving her crazy. It wasn't as if she didn't know his tendency for mischief and reckless behavior, but she had at least hoped he would act reasonably considering the situation. She was basically breaking him out of here! Okay, she was doing the paperwork, but that hardly made the situation less dangerous. Andora Guilstan was renowned for her ruthlessness – with those that crossed her at least. She could ruin her career; the woman was the Chief of Medicine for peat's sake! The paperwork made it legal and with Miranda's added signature, it would make it infallible – at least she hoped it would. She just wished he would take this more seriously. Rather than purposely provoking her into yelling at him, he could at least _try_ to remain inconspicuous. A voice that sounded out of nowhere was _hardly_ unsuspicious.

"I gather this has something to do with your invisible friend over there," Miranda inquired, folding her arms defiantly. She nodded silently in response. "Hermione," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face agitatedly. "If this gets me fired, I swear to Merlin, I _will _come after you,"

"Thank you," Hermione sighed in relief, ignoring her friend's blatant glare while handing the blue slip over.

"You owe me," was the growled response.

"I know," she sighed, eyes showing her gratitude. "Do you think you could do one more little thing for me? I promise I won't ask again," pleading, Hermione prayed that Miranda would give her this one favor. Glaring, the blonde remained silent, waiting for the proposition. With a sigh, Hermione ran a hand through her long hair, pulling the elbow length tendrils over her shoulder in the process. Her fingers worked nimbly, weaving the unruly curls into a messy plait as she spoke. "After we get the discharge papers through I need you to take Sirius back to my house. I can't risk taking him myself. Once they see that I was the primary healer, they're going to try to corner me – I'm positive of that at least. He needs to get out of here as soon as possible. I'm going to try and track down Molly and the others – it's almost a given that they'll be here somewhere. After that I'll bring everyone back to my house," after a pause, she added with a wry smile, "Remove the disillusionment charm if you can find him,"

Smiling devilishly, Miranda nodded, her sapphire eyes glinting with promise. Positioning the quill over the blue paper, the blonde quickly signed her name below Hermione's, the loopy swirls of her signature overlapping the line. As soon as the tip of the quill left the paper, the blue slip shuddered. Instantly the signed paper caught fire, turning to ash in a matter of seconds. The discharge papers had been filed. Glancing down the corridor, Hermione felt a jolt of realization and turned to stare at Bertha. Seemingly unfazed, the old woman nodded, smiling encouragingly before she turned to Miranda, slightly uneasy.

"You'd best go down the third corridor to the left Ms Wilkes; I believe someone is already on their way,"


	4. The Lost Years

**Author's Note: **_I feel like a _complete _idiot! I told myself when I posted the last chapter that I would tell you all about the amazing banner and chapter images I'd had made over at _**The Dark Arts**_, and what did I do? I forgot! So, I'm telling you now. If you want to check it out, just go to my profile page and there'll be a link there. _

_On a completely different note, I have some news. I may be very slow on the updating in the near future. While I said school was going to be busy, it's really not because I dropped out. Some say "stupid girl" but I say, "so what". I've actually got myself an apprenticeship in hairdressing, and while the pay is – less than perfect – and the hours are horrendous, I am actually looking forward to it. So, my point – I will be so tired that I may find it hard to write, or find time at least. _

_Special thanks to _Ceredwen, JustAGirl101, caughtinblackseyes, LadyKnightSusan, MidnightBlack07, allycat1186, this-love-is-sirius & googlibear _for leaving some fantastic reviews. I appreciate all of them so very much; they keep me going._

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**.: Chapter Four – The Lost Years :.**

Friday, November 2, 2004

_9:02AM_

Ten years. How could he have missed _ten_ years? It was almost unfathomable. He'd missed a decade's worth of memories, good and bad. He'd missed the bringing of life and the coming of death. He'd missed weddings, funerals, birthdays, Christmas' and every other significant turning point in his loved ones lives. They were memories lost to him and he would never have the chance to get them back. It was cruel – almost too cruel. Life had always dealt him a bad hand. Hell, look at his family. His mother had hated him. She'd loathed his very existence and probably spent her last breath hissing words of hate simply because he wasn't the precious son Regulus had been. His younger brother had relished in his fall from their mother's graces, loving the fact that he was the favorite where Sirius was not. It didn't bother him. Regulus could lap up all the attention he wanted from the old hag, he certainly hadn't wanted it. The two of them had gotten along well enough as children but as their teenage years came to pass, a rift grew between them and that was that. His father hadn't been any better. Drinking himself into the ground, the old man had blatantly ignored him and often found it more interesting to have a conversation with a lamp rather than look at him. They may have been his family by blood and by name, but his _real_ family were his friends. They were the ones that would lay their life on the line for him, just as he would for them. He'd missed the beginnings and endings of their lives for ten years. He was sure that someone was punishing him. For what, he didn't know, but he was certain that life wasn't meant to be this cold – or this hard.

He didn't know what hurt more; not being there for Remus when he'd needed him the most, or not knowing anything about his godson's life. He knew Moony had liked Tonks even before the old werewolf had figured it out for himself. He wouldn't deny that it was a kick in the guts to know he'd missed his best mate's wedding to Nymphadora, the cousin that was more a sister. It was even worse when Hermione had told him about Nymph, but what really did it, was knowing that he hadn't been there for Teddy's birth. How many other memories had he missed out on? And what about Harry? Was he married? Single? Did he have any children? It was an endless cascade of unanswered questions, each of which tore at his slipping mask of control, leaving him a little less shielded than before.

He would prepare himself for a barrage of questions when Molly and her clan arrived, Order members in tow. There would be no answers – for them at least. He wasn't ready to talk about the veil or anything that might have happened to him in the last ten years, but they would ask despite knowing that in the first place. He just had to prepare himself for the initial onslaught, after that he would be fine. Besides, he had his own questions and he was sure that he would get the answers whether he wanted them or not. He was scared – scared of knowing exactly what he'd missed out on, of what had happened and who had moved on. He was scared but he wouldn't show it. He never did.

There was one comfort in all of this; Hermione Granger. She had been amazing. He still couldn't believe that she was twenty-five years old. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been fifteen. A lot had certainly changed. Initially he'd thought that she was just another healer there to torment him. How wrong he had been. He felt like a right ass. The way he'd treated her was – well it was far from civil. He'd have to remember to swallow his pride and apologize later. Still, it wasn't entirely his fault. He doubted any of her old classmates would recognize her. She had certainly grown into herself. It wasn't as if she was like one of those models, super slim and drop dead gorgeous. No – she had a more natural, classic beauty. She didn't need the make-up or the fancy clothes to look beautiful, there was something uniquely her that did that for her. He could hardly say he knew her or her feminine habits, he just guessed that she didn't spend as much time worrying about her appearance like most women. She was too focused to be that superficial. Then again, she was a woman. She had to have at least a little vanity. Her hair was still uncontrollable but it suited her. It always had. Nonetheless, she wasn't the fifteen year old he'd met all those years ago. Her personality seemed the same though. She was still bossy and ambitious, intelligent and perceptive, stubborn but understanding and as caring a person as she had been at fifteen. It was the understanding and caring nature that he had recognized first. She hadn't asked any questions or demanded any answers. It was like she understood that he was still too raw to talk about any of that. She'd let him ask the questions. For that reason alone, she was amazing.

"I hate to burst your invisible bubble but you're probably going to stay like that unless you tell me where the bloody hell you are," snapped the haughty blonde, drumming her nails impatiently against the glass window pane. He didn't know who this woman was but Hermione obviously trusted her. The Hermione he had known in 1994 had been a good judge of character and he doubted her perceptiveness and ability to read people had changed all that much. He would just have to trust her judgment.

"Are you always this demanding," he asked, smirking as she jumped in fright. There were definitely some perks to being invisible. The best being the obvious; no one could see you. It certainly made pranking and day to day mischief a whole lot easier.

"I do try," she retorted snootily, glaring in irritation at the empty space where he stood. He couldn't understand this woman or rather Hermione's friendship with her. They were complete opposites as far as he could tell. If she had attended Hogwarts, Sirius was sure that this haughty blonde would have been a Slytherin. She was Hermione's friend, not his. He wouldn't loose any sleep over it, it just perplexed him was all.

"Mind taking this lovely charm off?" he drawled sarcastically, smirking at the effect it had. So she hated being challenged. He could definitely have fun with this.

"Not at all," she ground out, jabbing him in the stomach with her wand. After muttering the counter charm, the blonde leaned back against the porch railing, smirking triumphantly at the pained expression on his face. When in doubt violence was obviously the answer. When he made no attempt at small talk and just stood there glaring, she turned to open the front door, smiling lazily. Who ever this woman was, she was good. She had the skill, the ability and all the arrogance to fight fire with fire. He would have to tread carefully with this one. Irritating her just simply wasn't enough. He had to infuriate her. A prank was definitely in order, he just had to figure out the best approach first. Slow and steady would win this race. He just had to have a little patience.

Returning her lazy grin with one of his own, Sirius casually walked through the front door, purposely taking his time. He could hear her huffing impatiently as he leaned against the doorframe, blocking her path, but he didn't care. She could wait as far as he was concerned; his current surroundings were far more interesting. _This is Hermione's house?_ He didn't know what he'd expected her house to look like but it certainly wasn't this. Healers were paid fairly good money compared to other wizarding jobs but there was no way her salary could support this. The house, while quaint on the outside was extraordinary on the inside.

The hallway seemed to go on forever, the dark mustard yellow wall was scattered with memories, muggle and magical. There was one picture in particular that caught his eye. It was a picture of Hermione. The picture was still, frozen and her expression captured. There was another woman in the photograph but he hardly paid her any attention. Black and white, the image was charmingly quaint, capturing the true beauty of that moment. Hermione couldn't have been more than seven at the time. She seemed so carefree. Smiling happily, her face decorated with painted swirls of unknown color, she was dancing with a woman, obviously her mother. She didn't have a care in the world, only a child's freedom from pain and hurt. She was free. It was her freedom in that moment that appealed to him. He wished he could go back, back to when everything was alright, when Lily and James were still alive. He wanted to go back to those precious moments in time and relive the carefree life he'd had when he'd been at Hogwarts, his home away from the prison that housed him. He wanted that freedom again.

Tearing his eyes away from the photograph, he slowly made his way down the hallway, glancing through an open archway on the left. It was a large, spacious room, filled with the warm comfort of a fireplace. Rays of natural light illuminated the room, making it airy and comfortable. There was an elegant simplicity about this room, a reassuring place to wind down and just be. There was something relaxing about this place even if all he had seen was the hallway and the lounge. He felt at ease here. That in itself was extraordinary. Letting his feet carry him forward, Sirius walked to the end of the hallway, examining each photographed memory, fascinated by the stories they told; she'd had an amazing life.

Changing focus, he turned to survey the room he now stood in, genuinely amazed. The room was massive. Dark crimson tiles adorned the kitchen's back wall, accompanied by the dark mahogany wood that seemed to flow throughout the house. The kitchen itself was fairly large and decorated flawlessly. The Gryffindor colors didn't go unnoticed either. The kitchen was a compilation of red and gold, or rather, dark crimson and dusty yellow. While the island bench top was mahogany much like the rest of the kitchen, small, almost indistinguishable thin lines of red and gold circled the outer rim. He couldn't help but smile at the small detail. The rest of the room was designed with equal measure and attention to detail. The dining table, standing alone in the middle of the room, was dark with a simple but elegant design, and the extra lounge room to the left, was equally elegant with its uncomplicated finish. He noticed three closed doors to his left, amazed that the house branched off further. In the far corner, a small staircase reached up to the house's second floor landing, surpassing his preconceived ideas. The house was far from what he had expected but then, he hadn't known what to expect. Maybe it was the sheer size of the house that shocked him. She'd certainly never given any indication or impression of having grown up with money. There was so much he didn't know about her and while that frustrated him, it also intrigued him. He liked a good mystery. Still, he could tell this was her house. It was all her. Every piece of furniture, every painting, table, vase, coffee mug; one way or another, it all resembled her.

He was distinctly aware of the arrogant blonde smirking beside him, obviously enjoying his momentary awe. He paid her no heed. She could smirk all she wanted – for now at least. Small and barely noticeable, a roguish grin spread across his face, disappearing moments later as though it was never there. Some things would never change. In life there will always be those defining moments, the ones where you find out exactly who you are or who you could have been. People change. They are constantly growing, thinking and learning from their mistakes while making new ones. It is an undeniable fact that the world is constantly changing, as are the people in it. There is, however, always an exception. The prankster would never die. It didn't matter how many tortures he'd endured, or how much death and destruction he'd bared witness to. None of that mattered because the prankster, the little boy tying his brother's shoelaces together, the teenager water bombing the professors at the end of graduation, that man, or at least that side of him, would never die. Life may have changed him but it certainly hadn't stripped him of his humor.

Walking backwards, Sirius glanced around the room, moving until his back hit the kitchen's island. Inconspicuously, he quietly removed his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, arching back with a yawn to hide the transfer. All it would take was a swish and flick. Shuffling to the side, he transferred the majority of his weight on the nearby wall, discreetly directing his wand toward the oblivious blonde. Swish and flick. That's all it took. Simple and effective. Hiding the grin that threatened to destroy his well hidden laughter, Sirius casually walked over to the kitchen bench, grabbing an apple from the nearby fruit bowl. Carelessly, he rubbed the ripe fruit on his top, cleaning away its non-existent grime. Just as he was about to bite into the apple, his stomach growling in hunger, a door slammed, causing him to jump and the fruit to topple to the ground. Glaring mutinously, he bent down and snatched the red fruit from the ground, transferring his disdain to the archway as footsteps padded down the hallway in their direction. His disdain however, was short lived. The apple toppled from his hand, falling with an echoing thud. _Harry. _

-- _9: 43AM _--

She should have known how he'd react. Harry was never one to think rationally, at least not when a loved one was concerned. It wasn't like there was any immediate danger like there had been during the war. They didn't have to worry about him running off, risking life and limb in some harebrained scheme to save those he held dear. She loved and hated him for that. He would risk anything to save the ones he loved, even if it cost him his life. She hated the fear and overwhelming sense of hopelessness, like there was nothing she could do to help him, save him. She loved the loyalty and courage he had, but by god did she hate worrying about him, whether he was lying in a ditch, dead and cold, rotting in the darkness. Those had been the darkest days during the war – for her at least. She hadn't been able to sleep, eat or even think straight. He was her best friend and he was all alone, facing god knows what just to save the life of someone he cared about. It was Harry's emotions that drove him to such crazy feats, but she wouldn't want him any other way because then, he wouldn't be Harry. She could hardly blame him for reacting the way he did, she just hoped he'd have enough sense to avoid causing a scene. No one needed to know that Sirius Black was alive – at least not yet.

"Gin, do you think you could try and keep the others occupied long enough for me to get home and make sure everything's okay?" she asked in a hushed whisper. If anyone would help her, it would be Ginny. The redhead had enough sense to understand that her husband's disappearing act was just the beginning. If Harry was pushed too far – well, she didn't know what he'd do. He was of a sound mind and wouldn't do anything life threateningly dangerous, but that wasn't exactly the point. Harry was an emotional person and while he may not share his feelings openly with the world and the majority of the people in it, there is only so much one person can take. Sirius Black was probably the breaking point.

"It shouldn't be too hard," Ginny replied lowly, a worried but thoughtful expression marring her delicate features.

They had separated from the rest of the group but Mrs Weasley's voice seemed to carry down the corridor, shrill and demanding. She was silently thankful for not telling the elder redhead about Sirius. While Molly had the best of intentions, the older woman was usually overcome by emotion, something that nine times out of ten resulted in a public scene. The only people she'd trusted enough to keep this secret as quiet as possible was Harry and Ginny, the latter of the two she was counting on. If all went well, she'd be home in a couple of minutes and have enough time to prepare Sirius for the imminent onslaught of tears, exclamations of happiness and excessive hugging. Harry would already be there and because of that, she would keep her distance – for a while. They needed some time to themselves, to reunite without any interruptions or added pressure. They both deserved that much. Ginny would take care of the others, all she had to worry about was Harry and Sirius, not to mention a pissed off Miranda, but then, Miranda was Miranda. The blonde was always pissed off at something or rather.

"You're a lifesaver," she sighed, hugging the witch ferociously. Ginny always came through for her. Pulling back, Hermione's smile turned into a frown, her brow furrowing as a complication crossed her mind. "Gin, where's he going to stay?"

At first the redhead looked baffled before the dawning of realization hit her. "We have James," sighed the younger witch, eyes remorseful. "Merlin knows Harry will want him to stay with us and normally that wouldn't bother me, but with this little one on the way and James to deal with, I don't think I could handle it,"

"He can't stay with Molly," Hermione said, her voice adamant.

"Merlin no! Mum has the best of intentions but she would drive him mad," glancing down the corridor, Ginny fiddled with the hem of her blouse nervously. It was obvious the redhead didn't like their current situation, but there was nothing they could do. They had to figure this out before Molly became aware of how much they knew. Molly meant well, but at times the older woman could be unbelievably overbearing. They both knew how Sirius and the Weasley matriarch had clashed in the past, their polar opposite personalities made sure of that. They had to try and work this out, find a solution that would suit all of them – and fast. "Can he stay with you?" Ginny blurted out, eyes wide and pleading. "It'd be perfect. Mum wouldn't dare try to contradict you if you said it was because of your responsibilities as a healer,"

"Molly isn't stupid," reasoned Hermione, slightly dazed at the redhead's suggestion. She was surprised she hadn't thought of it herself, after all, she had more than enough room. There was, however, a complication. There always was.

"Hermione," whined the younger witch, stamping her foot impatiently. "It's perfect. You have plenty of room, more than enough. He'd be comfortable there and Harry could visit whenever he wanted," the more Ginny said, the more it made sense. It _was_ a perfect solution. Opening her mouth, she went to talk but was stopped. "Hermione, _please_," begging, Ginny stared imploringly, eyes desperately seeking her friend's answer.

Sighing, Hermione ran a hand through her hair, glancing down the corridor. "You're forgetting one thing," she said, voice low and exasperated. When the redhead gave no response, a blank look on her face, Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. "_Ron_," she yelled exasperatedly.

"Oh," small and nearly inaudible, the quiet exclamation escaped the witch's mouth. "Well, sod him!" gaping, Hermione stared. "It's your house and besides, he may be your fiancé and my idiot big brother, but he doesn't live there. It's up to you, not him. If he doesn't like it, then he can go fu–,"

"I get the point," Hermione grumbled, silencing her unabashed friend.

It was true, Ron didn't live there, but that wasn't exactly the point. He was her fiancé. If she agreed to this, then she would not only piss him off, but it would be like a slap in the face. They had lived together before, a long time ago, but things hadn't exactly worked out all that well. It'd been three years since she'd moved out, and despite their still being together, she had refused to let him move in a second time. As selfish as it sounded, she didn't want him there. It was _her_ house, hers and hers alone. While it didn't bother her in the slightest, Sirius moving in, even if it was only temporary, it would be about as deflating to Ron's ego as loosing the Quidditch World Cup. If she was honest with herself, she wouldn't mind the company; the house was fairly large after all. What would she say to Ron? He'd been trying to convince her to let him move in for the past two years, but she always politely refused. He would be beyond angry, but what could she do? This seemed to be the only solution.

"Okay," she said quietly, looking down at her muggle wristwatch. "I'll do it, but right now, I have to get home. Try to give me as much time as possible. If all goes well, bring them by in about twenty minutes," sighing, Hermione hugged the pregnant witch, inwardly anxious. She didn't need another fight with Ron, but it seemed that would be inevitable.

_9:54AM_

Silence. That's what she had been greeted with. Pure, unbroken silence. Admittedly, she hadn't ventured farther than the front door, so it was impossible to tell what was going on, but that was hardly the point. There were no voices. That in itself was the root of all her worries. Harry was here. Sirius was here. So why weren't there any voices? Why weren't they talking? Had something happened? Was Harry okay? Sirius? Something wasn't right. Maybe she was reading into it too much. They could have gone outside, but then, they had to have been stupid to even think about going out in this weather, especially to talk. She was just being paranoid, they were probably fine. She would be the first to admit that she overanalyzed things. She thought of every possible scenario, imaging what could happen. She always planned for the worst. During the war, she had backup plans for nearly everything. It was like her safety net, knowing what she would do if the worst did happen. Ron thought it was her inability to live spontaneously, but she saw it as preparation. She was perfectionist and as such, there was a level of control she could live with, and a level she could not. She liked to be in control. Ron had often called her a control freak, but so what if she was? Why place your life in the hands of someone else? She didn't believe in destiny or fate. She believed in choices. There were right and wrong choices, but whichever you took, it would lead you down the path of life. If you chose wrong, there were always forks in the road where you had a chance to make things right, to redeem and learn from your mistakes. She believed that it was her choices, her decisions as a person that shaped her life, not pre-aligned fate.

"Miranda," she called out warily, inching forward, her hand clasped securely around her wand.

"In here!" came the exasperated reply. Sighing in relief, Hermione walked down the hallway and followed the barely audible sounds of someone sobbing. It was so quiet. No wonder she hadn't heard it before. Was it Harry?

Anxiously biting her lip, she slipped through the open archway, eyes immediately watering at what she saw. Sirius stood, leaning against the kitchen's island for support as he comforted the younger wizard. He looked slightly uneasy but for the most, he looked determined. She could feel her own tears springing free. The scene, while morose, was beautiful. Harry had been through so much. When he'd lost Sirius, to him, it had been like loosing a father. Sirius had been the only father figure he'd known and to loose him – well, she couldn't imagine what Harry had felt, but she could relate. Loosing her father had been devastating, but for Harry, it had been like loosing the only thing he'd had close to a family. He'd withdrawn into himself for months, but after a time, he'd come to accept his loss. Everything he had told himself, everything he had overcome in those months of grieving – she imagined it was like a never ending nightmare. Sirius was back and Harry was barely coping. That much was obvious. Lifting her hand, Hermione wiped away the stray tears that had fallen. The simple action, causing the barely composed man to look in her direction. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She didn't know why, but she felt nervous. Sirius continued to stare, eyes piercing. It felt like he was looking into her soul, into her very core. A small smile appeared on his face, one of acceptance, appreciation and warmth. He was thanking her. Smiling back, albeit somewhat weakly, she turned her back, giving the man time to console her weeping friend. Right now, Harry needed his godfather.

She could hear a soft sigh escape the woman beside her. Miranda wasn't as cold as she seemed, it was just a front to hide who she really was. Turning to address the woman, she stopped, eyes wide. "Miranda, why is your hair blue?"


	5. Midnight Musings

**Author's Note:** _First off I want to apologize for taking so long to update, life has been beyond chaotic. That and I had a one-shot gnawing at the back of my mind – if you want to check it out it's called _Black Dreams_; it's a tragedy so there isn't a happy ending but it's pretty good to my standards. Besides the one-shot, my life in the form of hairdressing got in the way…The lady that hired me for the apprenticeship turned out to be a complete bitch. Once I'd cleaned the salon, she fired me for no reason other than she didn't have the time, so I'm extremely angry. I'm considering going back to school and figuring out what I want to do next, but I really don't know. Anyway, enough about my poor pathetic life, here's chapter five. _

_Special thanks to _Ceredwen, JessMess, SiriuslyLoveBound, JustAGirl101, this-love-is-sirius, caughtinblackseyes, CrystalizedHeart, Rosvita & Helter Skelter _for leaving some great reviews.

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**Important**_– _I've edited/deleted a section of chapter three. The Andora Guilstan storyline is gone because try as I might, I can't find a way to fit it in with everything else that is going to happen

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**.: Chapter Five – Midnight Musings :.**

Sunday, November 11, 2004

_5:56PM_

_How could they be so heartless?_ Hermione was seething. The hospital_ was_ a business; she had no doubt in that now. They didn't care about the patients, only the profit in treating them. She hated it. How could they be so emotionless, so, so – cold? It was unfathomable. She wouldn't say she hated her job, in the beginning it had been everything she had imagined it to be and more. It had been a challenge and she had taken it on head first, relishing in all the job had to offer. A lot had certainly changed since then, she wasn't as naïve for starters. Her passion had diminished into a faint liking and the drive she had once had, was nothing more than a distant memory. Her patience was wearing thin, frayed a little more each day. Some days, it took all her self-control not to scream. Today had been one of those days. A woman had lost both her husband and twin daughters in one day, simply because they weren't deemed as high priority patients. They'd seemed pale and a little shaken, but then that was a given, after all, it's not every day a Ukrainian Ironbelly joins you for breakfast. They'd been too dazed to argue, accepting that all they needed was a Calming Draught for their nerves. Within a couple of hours, the three were dead. The hospital had left them there, in a waiting room, slowly bleeding to death internally, and all they had to say to the grieving woman was_, "There was nothing we could do."_ Bullshit, there was nothing they could do! They'd let them die! Their deaths could have been prevented, yet they chose not to care. The woman had lost her family and they refused to acknowledge that they were accountable. Merlin! She hoped the woman sued, maybe then they would take this more seriously. Life wasn't a game of odds and ends; every decision, action and minute counted. Life was precious. It was a gift that had to be treasured beyond everything else, not snubbed out simply because a person wasn't deemed important enough. It shouldn't be a choice of who lives and who dies; everyone deserves an equal chance. It seemed the hospital thought differently – that or they didn't care. Either way, she was livid.

Taking in a shaky breath, Hermione tried for the third time to unlock the front door, keys jangling in a rhythmic taunt. Flinging the door open, she stalked inside, not caring if there was an extra dint in the wall. She was beyond angry. She was furious. Kicking the door shut with an echoing thud, she yanked at the chequered scarf draped around her neck, throwing it irately at the coat rack. She was acting like an impertinent little child, stamping her foot in protest simply because things weren't going the way she wanted them to. She honestly didn't care. She'd deal with the repercussions later, but right now, all that mattered was the bottle of merlot waiting for her in the kitchen. Padding forward, she sighed tiredly, grateful that tomorrow was her day off.

"Bad day?" squeaking, Hermione whirled around, wide-eyed. She felt like a complete idiot. How could she have forgotten about Sirius?!

Ignoring the amused smirk on his face, she sidestepped the older man, making a beeline for the bottle of merlot which was conveniently uncorked. With a scowl, she noticed that Sirius had helped himself to the drink. She could hardly blame him, after all, she had told him that he could help himself to whatever he wanted, something she was beginning to seriously regret. It had been hard at first, but they'd adjusted. If she was honest with herself, she was grateful to have the extra company. Sirius didn't seem to mind too much, in fact, he seemed to enjoy it. Truth was, so did she. Ron hadn't liked it one bit, he still didn't. Part of her cared, but the larger part didn't. So what if she was living with another man? It wasn't as if they were romantically involved; he was just a friend. Still, that didn't matter; Ron was and always would be as irrational as the day he was born.

"I'm guessing that's a yes then," taking a large gulp of the newly poured wine, relishing in the peppery aftertaste, she turned around, topping up her glass in the process. Sometimes it was good to have someone to come home to, even if it was only a friend.

"You have no idea," she muttered darkly, leaning over the island to refill his glass. There was something comforting about having someone there, ready to listen to all her incensed ranting. Ron had always been at practice or off with the boys, kicking up a storm somewhere. She'd hated it, but it came with the lifestyle. His career came first._ So does his team-mates,_ she thought sourly, taking another large gulp of wine. "Answer me this; do you think a hospital is legally responsible if they don't treat a patient – or rather, they don't do a medical examination because they don't _think_ there is anything wrong – and the patient dies within a couple of hours?" she spat angrily, slamming her wine glass on the table, it's contents sloshing precariously around the rim.

Sirius stood there awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck while he tried to figure out the best approach. Hermione could be lethal when she was in a foul mood, he'd seen as much in the past week with the shouting contests her and Ron seemed so_ fond_ of. "Well –"

"Oh, did I forget to mention that instead of patient, it's actually a father and his twin daughters?" she hissed, glaring pointedly. "There was nothing they could do. Horseshit! They could have done plenty of things, starting with a medical examination!" she still could believe how incompetent it all seemed. They were a hospital and notably one of the best in the wizarding world, so why was it, that in the past month or so, the standards had dropped so dramatically? She'd be damned if she knew the answer. Grabbing the wine glass, she took a small sip opposed to the large gulps she had been taking "What?" she asked snappishly, noticing Sirius's unusually timid expression.

"You're not going to bite my head off, break my nose or forcefully remove any other vital organs, if I say something?" he asked cautiously, throwing a playful, but slightly uneasy smirk her way.

"Depends on what you say," she muttered, smiling slightly at the heightened vigilance in his eyes as he quickly took stock of every sharpened utensil and its proximity. He laughed nervously, backing away slightly but not enough to draw too much attention to his movements. She hid her smile behind the glass, taking a sip before laying it down. "Well?" she asked, sitting there expectantly.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, obviously rethinking what he was about to say. Hermione couldn't help but notice the difference a good haircut and a few home cooked meals made. He looked a lot healthier, still a little thin, but healthier nonetheless. "Uh," he started, eyeing the butcher's knife near her arm. "Why don't you just quit?" he asked hesitantly, voice small like a child's.

"Quit?" she asked, flabbergasted by the mere suggestion._ She _couldn't quit. "Don't be ridiculous, I can't quit!"

"Why can't you?" he countered, a satisfied smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. She'd fallen silent. "You have every reason to quit," he continued, more confident than before. "You hate the place, not to mention you always come back from work in a foul mood," glaring, she leaned forward, a smirk reaching her lips as she watched his hands immediately rise in an 'I'm-just-saying' defensive manner. "You don't agree with their methods and from what I've gathered, as well you shouldn't – it's not like you're short on money either," he stated, radiating confidence and certainty. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.

"Sirius, I can't just quit," she sighed dejectedly, rolling the wineglass lightly, letting the contents slosh about before she downed it all in one go. "I've never failed at anything," she added quietly, turning her head to look out the window.

"You never have and I'm sure you never will," he stated calmly, moving to stand beside her. She had failed before. She'd made mistakes and she'd learned from them, but she'd never given up on something. She had never quit something simply because it was too hard, or it wasn't working out the way she had planned. She always persevered, pushing through until things had worked themselves out. "Hey," he gently nudged her with his shoulder, pulling her back to reality. Looking up, she felt small, like a little child. "You wouldn't be failing; you'd simply be making the right decision for you given the circumstances. There's no point in continuing with something that makes you miserable,"

Was he right? Was it okay to quit?

"Thanks," she smiled weakly up at him, glad that for once, instead of coming home to an empty house, she had come home to one where there was someone there, ready to listen. She'd come home to someone who'd cared enough about her day to ask. Ron had never done that. "Since when did you get so serious?" she asked laughingly, nudging his shoulder in return, a playful smile on her face.

"I'm not," he said simply, a charming smile playing on his lips. Grabbing his own wineglass, he downed the contents, staring suspiciously at the empty glass. "It must be the wine," he concluded, screwing his nose up in mock disgust.

Laughing, she smiled brightly, the day's events drifting to the back of her mind. She would deal with it later, but right now, she wanted to wind down, drink a little, laugh a little and just be herself. It was strange how he had the ability to make all her problems fade away, even if it was for only a moment. He still had his demons, but he seemed to be renewed with the knowledge that he was no longer a prisoner, held captive by past accusations. He was a free man. He could go outside, unafraid that the Ministry were hiding somewhere in the shadows, waiting to pounce and send him back to Azkaban for a crime he hadn't committed. He was free to do as he pleased, the knowledge of which, had him smiling more and more each day.

"Dinner?" she asked, his attention and interest peaked at the mention of food. Shaking her head in exasperation, she smiled in amusement.

_Boys will be boys,_ she thought laughingly. Harry and Ron, not to mention nearly every other male she knew, were insatiable when it came to food. One word, whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner, and they were drooling, their appetites renewed even if they had eaten only moments earlier. Sirius was definitely no better, if anything, he was the worst of the lot. He nodded vigorously, leaning back to grab the takeout flyers scattered unceremoniously across the tabletop from the night before. She couldn't help but notice how his t-shirt stretched upwards, revealing the taught muscles beneath. She knew he'd been working out lately, but she hadn't expected this. Each muscle was defined, sculpted into an arch of sublime torment – for her at least. He was oblivious. Her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, traveling up and down his firm torso, revealed a little more as he arched back, trying to grab one pamphlet in particular. Blushing furiously, she tore her eyes away, pouring out the last of the wine into her glass in an effort to distract herself.

"Italian, or Chinese?" jumping slightly, she turned, sipping at the red liquid. Sirius was standing, a pamphlet in each hand. He looked rather comical, but she didn't notice. His shirt wasn't sitting properly. "Hermione, are you alright? You look kind of flushed," he asked, brow furrowed in concern.

"What?" she asked, slightly dazed. "Oh, no – I'm ah, I'm fine. I think it's the wine," nodding her head furiously, she smiled awkwardly, sipping at the wine a little as if to emphasize her point. "Italian," pointing toward the pamphlet in his left hand, she nodded, resolute with her decision. Shrugging, Sirius chucked the unwanted Chinese pamphlet on the table, moving toward the phone. Sudden realization dawned on her.

"No!" she yelled, running forward. "Um – I'll order," she smiled meekly, hand reaching out for the phone. Grey eyes stared back at her, confused but suspicious. With a nonchalant shrug he chucked the phone over, moving to flop on the couch across the room. Sighing, Hermione hugged the phone to her chest, thankful that the near crisis had been diverted. She didn't need a repeat of last night. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that wizards and muggle technology did not mix.

_-- 11:23PM --_

"I just don't understand it," he couldn't help but smile; she was completely sloshed. "It's like I'm invisible or something –like a-a hat stand!" she exclaimed, a small pout playing on her lips. With a chuckle, he discreetly leaned sideways, reaching for the wine bottle. He'd never been one to get drunk easily, in fact, it took quite a lot to get him even tipsy. Hermione, however, was a completely different story. It wasn't as if they hadn't drunk much, in fact, they'd actually drank quite a bit, but it was more her lack of ability to hold the liquor that had her swaying from side to side, more than anything else. Somewhere in between all the wine and tiramisu, they'd ended up here, on the couch with at least three empty wine bottles for company.

"I seriously doubt that," he countered, sliding the bottle behind the couch and out of view.

"It's true!" she argued, leaning forward with a small frown. "He doesn't notice me. I get dressed up and he goes off to practice," running a hand through her hair, she flopped dramatically against couch, grabbing a cushion and clutching it to her chest. "I don't exist," she whispered, barely audible.

He didn't know what to do. She was staring at him imploringly, like a child, small and vulnerable. Sure he'd dealt with drunken women before – usually he was the one getting them drunk – but she was different. She wasn't throwing herself at him but rather looking up to him, like he held all the answers. He was the apple of her eye, but not in the way he was used to. She was so different, not like any of the other girls he'd met. She was independent, but from what he could tell, she was afraid to take chances. It was easier to stay between the lines, follow the rules and live life with certainty rather than the unknown. He could tell that she would do anything for the ones she loved, and from what he'd heard, she'd gone to extremes during the war just to ensure their safety.

She'd opened her home to him; given him a place to stay when everywhere else was either unsuitable or unavailable. He wasn't stupid; he knew that she had been the last resort. In a way, he felt indebted to her. She'd said yes, where everyone else had said no. It wasn't like he could blame Ginny for saying no; after all, she and Harry had a little one on the way, not to mention James. He would've hated to be a burden, and from what he knew, Remus had his hands full with Teddy, so he couldn't go there. The child metamorphmagus was about as clumsy and troublesome as his mother had been, not to mention his marauder genes were finally starting to kick in. He would have been driven mad by Molly and everyone else had just seemed too impersonal despite their Order ties. He was actually kind of glad she'd said yes. Even though he'd known her as a child, he couldn't figure her out. She was like an enigma, an unsolvable puzzle, mysterious and indefinable. Maybe one day he would figure her out – but not today.

"He loves you," he said, grimacing at the thought of the red haired Weasley.

He hadn't been exactly welcoming when Hermione had told him he'd be staying with her, in point of fact, he'd thrown a fit. He'd liked Ron well enough when he'd been younger, but this older Ron, he seemed more self-absorbed. He couldn't understand Hermione's attraction to the man. They were polar opposites. He was arrogant, self-absorbed, insufferably idiotic, not to mention incredibly selfish, and above all, dizzy with fame. Sirius had to admit that despite all the man's shortcomings, he was an exceptional keeper. Harry had taken him to a game a couple of nights ago, insisting that he see the redhead play. He was pleasantly surprised at how fast the boy had gotten, from what he'd heard; Ron had been shocking in the early part of his school years. Despite all of this, there was one thing Sirius was certain of; fame had definitely gone to young Weasley's head.

"No," she said sadly, shaking her head. "He loves the – he loves the idea of me," she sniffed, pulling her legs up to her chest.

What was he supposed to say to that? He didn't know either of them – at least not as a couple. From what he could tell, they fought a lot, endlessly it seemed, and he was hardly qualified to give her advice. He'd never had a proper relationship, just moments in time spent with one woman or another. He'd be a hypocrite if he said he knew everything, and he wasn't about to start preaching like he did.

Swallowing hard, he tried to concentrate. Firelight ricocheted at different angles, lighting the dim room with a delicate glow. Hermione seemed indifferent to the teasing flames, immersed in her own thoughts. He noticed. Darkness had been his life. It had consumed him to the point where he knew nothing else, only the harsh reality of life, or the promise of what could have been. He hated it, yet he knew nothing else. Life had always been relentless, but he'd always trudged through, hoping that at the end of the tunnel, light would await him. Lily had always said that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel, but no matter how hard he tried to believe that, he never could. He'd almost given up on life, chucked the towel in. Thankfully, that had been the day they'd found him, the day his hope had been renewed. Harry had faith in him, Hermione more so. They believed so passionately, so resolutely, that he'd be fine, that he was starting to believe it himself – but for all the wrong reasons, or rather, just one; Hermione. She was engaged and Harry's best friend, not to mention completely off limits, but she made him feel as though nothing could harm him. She made him believe that things were finally turning around, that life was granting him a chance to be happy. Remus had always kept him grounded; the voice in his head, rational and objective, telling him what he should do rather than what he wanted to do. It was the voice telling him to end this conversation before he said something he'd regret, namely about a certain redhead.

"I certainly doubt that," he ground out. She'd helped him, housed him and in a way, nursed him back to health in the past week; he was grateful, nothing more.

"I should have let her have him," she muttered, a dark expression clouding her eyes. _Let who have who?_ He thought, confused at the sudden change in conversation.

"Hermione –" he started, shifting to lean forward, a worried expression on his face. She seemed oblivious to his presence, as though she were in a land of her own._ A tormenting one_, he thought offhandedly, noticing the sheen of unshed tears fill her eyes.

"She and he, they –" shaking her head, she furiously wiped at the tears, refusing to let them fall further than they had. "I hate him," she whispered, barely audible. "H-his fault, not mine," she mumbled, her nails digging into the material of the couch.

"Who, Hermione? Whose fault is it?" he asked despite the small voice telling him that it was Ron. How could it not be? She'd been dating the prat for the past eight years, or so he'd been told. "Hermione," he said tentatively, reaching forward.

His hand was barely an inch away when she looked up abruptly. He quickly withdrew his hand, cradling it as though it were broken. Cursing quietly, he turned away to hide the dark expression on his face. Maybe it was the whole damsel in distress thing that had him protectively reaching out to her; then again, it could have been the wine. Either way, he had to stop himself before things got too complicated. Turning around, he felt the air catch in his throat. She looked so beaten. It took him a moment to realize that it was his sudden withdrawal that had her looking so downcast, the sheen in her eyes returning. She was an emotional drunk, not happy-go-lucky, dramatic, or demanding one. He realized then, that this was why she rarely drank more than one glass of wine. She was more than likely to pour her heart out to a complete stranger, oblivious and vulnerable because of the alcohol's affect on her.

"Uh –" he scratched the back of his neck, nervous that the right words wouldn't be right. The smallest thing could set her off. He really wasn't used to dealing with emotional women – at least not drunken ones. He didn't know how to handle this Hermione

A sniff. A look. Within seconds, she'd thrown herself at him, arms wrapped securely around his neck. It took him a second to realize she was sobbing. Hesitantly, he put his arms around her, hands rubbing soothing patterns up and down her back._ What on earth has that prat done?_ He thought sourly. He wasn't stupid, he had a fair idea exactly what the idiot had done, but he wouldn't call him out on it – at least not yet. He was Harry's friend and Hermione would most likely kill him, if she remembered anything that is. No – he'd be more subtle. He had to find out the truth, no matter how ugly it was. The clock struck midnight, its chimes echoing throughout the house, but all he could think about was the sobbing girl in his arms.

_-- 12:01AM --_

Who the bloody hell visited someone at 12:01 in the morning?! With a scowl, Ron moved across the room, grabbing his wand. The unknown visitor continued to knock repeatedly on the front door of his apartment, unaware or seemingly indifferent about the time. He wondered idly if something had happened, but pushed the thought from his mind._ They would've flooed_, he concluded, reaching for his coat. The weather certainly wasn't helping his mood. Shivering slightly, he flicked on a light, grateful that Hermione had convinced him to get an apartment with electricity.

"Bloody hell! I'm coming already!" he shouted, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the back of his fist. Whoever it was, they were bloody persistent. The knocking stopped for a moment, an eerie silence filling the room. When he didn't move forward, waiting to see what would happen, he lifted his wand, staring at the door with disdain. The knocks resumed. With a huff, he unlocked the door, glaring murderously.

A soft voice brought his anger to a halt. "Aren't you going to let me in?" It couldn't be. Letting the door shift to the side, pushed gently by an unseen hand, he gaped.

"You,"


	6. Cold Hard Fact

**Author's Note: **_I'm not particularly sure that I like this chapter, but it does it fulfill its purpose. The chapter you've ALL been waiting for is next as you may be able to tell from the ending of this one. I'll try not to keep it hostage too long._

_Special thanks to _badhairdays, caughtinblackseyes, felena1971, CrystalizedHeart, Rosvita, alleycat1186, wasu, kyokoaurora, Black'sGirl (x5) _&_ Maridee _for leaving the reviews that keep me going. _

_I hope you enjoy and if you have any constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it - I am after all, trying to become a better writer._

* * *

**.: Chapter Six – Cold Hard Fact :.**

Monday, November 12, 2004

_8:28AM_

Splitting. Burning. Tearing. Unseen claws, relentless in their malicious intent, tore at her mind; it felt as though her head was splitting in two. With a small groan, she rolled over, burying her head into the pillow. The last time she'd drank that much – well – she'd never drank that much! Alcohol rarely agreed with her, and when it did, it was only because she'd had half a glass or so. She'd never been able to hold her liquor, so it made sense to avoid the situation entirely. No one had seen her drunk, tipsy maybe, but never drunk, something for which she was beyond grateful. Wincing, another wave of nauseating pain tore at her mind, shredding without remorse. Gritting her teeth, Hermione dug her elbows into the couch in an effort to sit up. Her limbs ached, tired with exhaustion; it was as though she had run a marathon – or two. With a strangled cry, she flopped, defeated, against the couch. Alcohol was a creation of the devil – it just had to be! Nothing had ever made her feel this lousy – or helpless; not even Ronald's scathing words during one of their routine arguments made her feel this awful. If only the twins could see her now. They'd been trying for years, persistent and slightly desperate, to get her drunk. They hadn't succeeded yet, and she was sure as hell going to make sure that it staid that way. She didn't want to imagine what they would do if they found out about this; something horrible and humiliating, no doubt. But right now, she couldn't care less; her head was pounding and her pillow – _moving?_

With a high pitched squeak, she was scrambling, suddenly aware that the pillow she had found _so_ comfortable earlier, was in fact solid and – human. Her mind was working furiously, ticking at a near impossible speed as it tried to put the pieces of this suddenly, unnerving puzzle, together. With an echoing thud, she fell to the floor, eyes snapping open in horror. _Oh god! What if I – What if we – Oh Merlin! What will I tell Ron? _The sound of a deep, reverberating chuckle met her ears, successfully drawing her back to reality. As her eyes focused, recovering from her momentary lapse of sanity, she couldn't stop the scowl from spreading across her face. Sirius was staring back at her, an amused and slightly arrogant smile on his face. Propping himself up against the couch's arm, she noticed the sparkle in his eyes, and much to her annoyance, his barking laugh followed. 

"Shut up!" how dare he laugh? It wasn't even funny! How was she supposed to know what happened – or rather what hadn't? "It's not funny," hissing, she tried to stand up, wincing as she did so.

"Oh, but I think it is," screwing her eyes shut, she grabbed aimlessly for something to hold on to. _Kill me now,_ she thought sourly, trying desperately to remain standing. Everything, every sound and every movement, seemed amplified. It all echoed, like a drum, beating rhythmically against her skull, constant and unwelcome. Sirius' laughter certainly wasn't helping either, not only was it grating on her last nerve, but it was stabbing away what rationality she had left. 

"This is still _my_ house," gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes to open, glaring murderously at the man staring back. "And so help me god, but I _can_ throw you out!" she hissed, grinding her teeth against the agonizing pain that washed through her head. 

"You can try," he waved his hand nonchalantly, rising gracefully from the couch in one swift motion. Part of her knew that despite her words, she wouldn't throw him out; the other part however, was slightly less rational. "But you won't," with a scowl she tried to move forward, stopping immediately as the room began to spin. 

A small groan escaped her lips, agonized. "I'm never drinking again," squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on her breathing. The last thing she needed was last night's dinner all over the living room floor. A deep chuckle resounded behind her, Sirius' warm breath tickling the back of her neck. Shivering slightly, she tried to remain upright, swatting away his helping hand. "I am capable of standing, I'll have you know," she snapped, whipping around far too fast. Grabbing her head, she swayed on the spot, instantly regretting her earlier motion. 

"Obviously," his mocking laughter burned, echoing painfully in her ears. Throwing him a murderous glare that would've made Snape proud, she eyed his outstretched hand.

As a Gryffindor, pride came easily and was often mistaken for arrogance, but in this case, it came dressed in the disguise of a hand, offered by a friend as a means to help her. At Hogwarts, people had often mistaken her pride for arrogance. Terry Boot had offered to help her with a Transfiguration essay, thinking that because she'd been in the hospital wing with a bad dose of the flu, he'd be helping. She'd said no, adamant that she didn't need any help. He'd mistaken her vanity, for arrogance. In truth, she'd never had to ask anyone for help, and despite the fact that she _did_ need his help, she'd had too much pride to admit to it. It had been the same with Hannah Abbott and Astronomy. Now, Sirius stood there, smirking at her in a way that made her blood boil, yet she knew that he had the best of intentions. By taking his offered hand, she would be admitting that she needed help. Maybe it was time to do right, where she'd done wrong before and accept that yes, she couldn't stand – at least not without support. Growling, she snatched his hand and elbowed him in the ribs, impatient for him to move. 

"I didn't know it was possible for a woman to growl like that," he laughed, moving forward steadily, stopping every now and then to let her regain her balance. Gritting her teeth, she resisted the urge to attack him and send her fists flying. 

"Yes, well, I can make a lot of sounds," she ground out, stopping abruptly as soon as the words left her lips, mortified. _Oh god! Did I just say that?_ Losing the raging battle within herself, she looked up, horrified. "T-that came out wrong," flushing, she tried to ignore Sirius' barely restrained laughter, elbowing him weakly in the stomach. "I need coffee," she said feebly, pointing half-heartedly at the coffee pot. _Great one Hermione,_ she thought sourly, _"I can make a lot of sounds?" _shaking her head, she tried to focus on the smell emitting from the kitchen; coffee and scrambled eggs with bacon. _Sirius must have taken the initiative and made good use of his magical abilities for once_, she thought idly. 

"You don't have any hangover potions, do you?" he asked, gently pushing her into one of the large mahogany chairs, twisting elegantly up from the ground. 

Looking up briefly, she shook her head, "I never saw the need," she said quietly, leaning forward to rest her head against the table, trying to ignore the churning of her stomach. Groaning, she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, fighting the urge to run and take refuge in the bathroom. 

"I'm going to floo over to Harry's for a second, will you be alright?" nodding her head numbly against the table, she opened an eye as she felt him kneel beside her. Grey eyes stared worriedly back at her, his brow scrunched up in concern. "Sure?" he asked, searching her face for any hesitation. Nodding, she smiled weakly at him, thankful that he was there to take care of her. "Okay, I'll be back in a sec," he smiled. "Try not to be too stubborn – just sit there and don't move, okay?"

"Does it look like I'll be going anywhere any time soon?" she growled in response, throwing him an irritated look. Determined to ignore the arrogant smirk on his face, she held his gaze, refusing to acknowledge defeat. He stared back, unblinking as though he knew she was daring him to contradict her. With a small smile, he stepped back and into the fire place, vanishing in a sea of green flames. "Arrogant git," she hissed half-heartedly, closing her eyes against the rays of undiluted sunlight, cascading down in a golden haze, beautiful and pure. 

Groaning slightly, she felt her stomach turn. Last night was a blur, there were bits and pieces, snippets of a conversation, or a memory, but other than that, it was a hazy fog of possibilities. So many things could have happened. She could have said something, broken someone's trust by letting their secret slip, or worse, one of her own. She cringed at the thought. _Secrets_;she hated them, yet she had a whole closet full. What if she'd let one slip? What would happen then? She had always been a fiercely private person, hating both the media and the public for their prying eyes. It was like she was on show and they were the spectators. They had to know what was happening and when it was happening. They had to know the ins and outs of everything; her life was nothing but a show to them. It was like they expected her to tell them everything, every minor detail in full, so lying through her teeth became like second nature. She didn't care what people thought, or what they said. If little white lies enabled her to keep what small part of her life that wasn't written on paper, or captured on film, private, then she would continue to tell them. But if she'd let them slip last night – well, she didn't know what to do. Sirius would have something over her, and even though she trusted him, a small part – a small inconceivably insecure part, didn't. He'd treated her so well, made her laugh and eaten her horrible cooking just to make her smile, but despite all of that, she didn't trust him. She rarely trusted anyone – at least not fully. Not Molly, not Ginny, Harry or Ron. She was a private person, and even though they were her friends, she liked having a little of herself kept hidden away. Maybe she was insecure, afraid of giving herself fully to someone, secrets and all. Did it really matter? They were her secrets, her hidden memories and cherished opinions, and they were kept that way for a reason. 

A loud tapping, woke her from her thoughts. Shifting to her side, Hermione turned around to look out the window, squinting from the sunlight. A small, tawny owl floated outside her window, swaying from side to side as it tried to stay airborne. The owl twittered, hitting its beak against the window pane, clumsily dipping to the right as it lost balance. Hermione instantly recognized the small animal. Forcing her legs to move, she stood up, wincing at the sharp pain in her head. The distant roar of the fireplace made her stumble and grip the windowsill for support. 

"I thought I told you to stay put," an angry voice snapped in irritation. Grimacing, she threw an angry glare over her shoulder.

"And since when have I ever listened to you," she ground out, biting back the urge to push his bracing hands away. A flicker of irritation crossed his face, before the cool mask he'd perfected over the years, went back up. She felt a twinge of guilt as the older man guided her back to the chair, blatantly ignoring her pleading gaze. "I'm sorry," grabbing his arm; she forced him to look at her. "There was – is an owl, Ron's owl, at the window. I was just –"

"I'm not angry," laughing, he shook his head. "Just annoyed. You are far _too_ stubborn for your own good. You could have fallen, or hit your head –"

"Walking to the windowsill is _hardly_ dangerous," she reasoned, sighing despite herself. 

"That's beside the point," he snapped, reaching into his coat pocket. Hermione suddenly noticed the green vial in his hand, its liquid a dark, muddy brown. She instantly knew what it was. "Now drink up, love," he smirked, uncorking the vial before pushing it under her nose and waving it tauntingly.

Glaring up at him, she snatched the vial. "You're taking far too much pleasure in this," she hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose to block the unsavory smell, before downing the potion. "Arghh," coughing, she clutched the table, nails digging into the hardened surface. 

Cold. It was so cold. Gritting her teeth, she refrained from screaming as the potion's liquid intensity burned its way through her veins. It was like ice liquefied. Thousands of invisible flames danced destruction inside her, searing their way through the tangible limbs of her once responsive body. She couldn't think of anything but the pain. It stripped her of her senses, numbed her body and stabbed at her mind. She couldn't feel the hardwood floor beneath her feet, nor the splinters in her fingers. It was blinding. She could feel her body shaking, small, ice blue clouds forming with each haggard breath. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the pain, but she fought for that level of control still. She could feel a hand, comfortingly warm, rest on her shoulder. There was a voice, soft and low, whispering to her, telling her to ride it out. Gasping, she tried to ignore the sudden rush, the burning sensation in her legs, moving upwards. With a strangled cry, she leaned forward, hitting her head against the table. First, it was her toes, then her legs, tingling with the remnants of the potion's icy assault. Next came her arms, and then her hands, until finally, with one last jolt, the icy haze that had surrounded her mind cleared, freeing her from the dizzying pain. 

Gasping, she lifted her head from the table, looking up at the man kneeling beside her. "You could have warned me," she hissed half-heartedly, leaning back against the chair with a discontented huff. 

"And where's the fun in that?" he laughed, ignoring her scowl. He held her gaze, grey eyes twinkling against the sunlight, a smile brighter than the sun on his face. She felt her anger ebb away, fading to the back of her mind, a smile of her own tugging at the corners of her mouth. She didn't know how he did it; he could infuriate her one moment, but make everything better the next. Laughing, she shook her head, nudging him playful on the shoulder.

"I'll get the owl," a small sigh escaped her lips. She wondered what Ron wanted this time. He rarely owled her, so it had to be something important – by his standards at least. "You get breakfast,"

With a cheeky smile and a salute, he was off, walking toward the sizzling eggs on the stove. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up, testing her legs before walking over to the windowsill. She idly wondered what Sirius had said to convince Harry to give him the hangover potion, but pushed the thought to the back of her mind. It would notdo well to think about it too much – at least not yet. She'd ask him later, but she doubted she'd get a straight answer, and if she did, well she was sure she wouldn't like it. With a small sigh, Hermione gently unclasped the latch on the window, moving to the far left before pushing the glass pane outwards. The little owl swooped in, twittering excitedly. 

"Pigwidgeon," she said, trying to catch the tiny owls attention as it darted about, flying in sporadic circles. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Sometimes the owl could be as dense as it was hyperactive. "Pig!" she all but yelled.

"I am not a _pig_, thank you very much," whirling around, she snorted at Sirius indignant scowl. 

"Not _you_," she snapped, eying the piece of half eaten bacon in his hand. "The owl; Pigwidgeon – Ron's owl," she offered, rolling her eyes at the blank look on his face. "You bought Ron an owl at the end of our third year, remember?" 

A spark of realization lit up his eye as the excitable bird twittered about, landing unceremoniously on her shoulder. "Carry on," with a nonchalant shrug he turned around, busying himself with the crackling bacon, but not before she noticed the red tint of embarrassment color his cheeks. 

Shaking her head, she raised her hand, watching as the tiny owl skittered over, perching there by instinct. "Lets see what Ron has to say this morning, huh?" she cooed quietly, scratching the bird on the back of the neck affectionately. After untying the tiny piece of parchment she watched as Pigwidgeon took flight, soaring through the open window. "I guess he doesn't want a response," she said somewhat bitterly, moving to the table. 

"Breakfast, my dear lady, is served," looking up, she laughed.With an elegant bow, Sirius lazily made his way to the table, directing the floating kitchenware with his wand. 

Turning her attention back to the letter in hand, she contemplated leaving it until after breakfast, but decided against it. For Ron to owl this early in the morning had to mean _something_. Breaking the seal in one swift movement, she opened the letter, frowning at its length. The more she read, the more pronounced her frown became.

_Hermione,_

_We need to talk. Something unexpected has come up. Meet me at Lila's around 11._

_Ron_

Fear gripped her heart, squeezing without remorse. Had something happened? Shaking her head, she tried to separate each thought and distinguish the facts. The letter was too vague. If anything serious had happened, she doubted he would tell her in a letter, and if he did, he would not have suggested they meet at Lila's. The fact that he wanted to _talk_, made her suspicious. Ron wasn't the talkative type, but the letter suggested that today would be an exception. Something had to have happened to provoke this, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to know what that something was. The fact that he'd suggested they meet at Lila's served to increase her nervousness and ebb away her fear at the same time. One way or another, by his choosing the small coffee shop tucked away in the far corner of Diagon Alley, assured her that the conversation would in one way or another, drastically change their lives. The quaint little coffee shop served as a reminder of their time together. It was there that he'd proposed to her, with a simple _"How bout it?"_ They hadn't been back since. She was sure that whatever he wanted to _talk_ about wouldn't be as pleasant as she hoped. Lila's would be his safety net. 

"Hermione, are you okay?" tearing her eyes away from the parchment, she noticed Sirius' concerned expression.

"Yeah," she replied quietly, folding the letter neatly and pushing it to the side. "Ron wants to meet me to _talk_," she said, an extra kick of venom in the last word.

"Oh," she could have sworn she saw a flicker of anger in his eyes, but quickly dismissed the idea, deciding to distract herself. Grabbing a fork, she stabbed the piece of bacon on her plate, toying with the idea of ignoring Ron's letter. It was her day off, she'd much rather spend it with Sirius.

_10:55AM_

It was unavoidable, that much she knew. If she didn't turn up, he'd floo and another fight would follow. She hated fighting with him, but it seemed that it was all they ever did. His words were sometimes cutting, but only because they spoke of the truth. He'd accused her of not wanting to marry him and the words, while hurtful, were true. She didn't want to marry him. They'd been through so much over the past few years that it seemed like a life time had passed. She had held his hand through the hard times and he to her, but now, it all seemed inconsequential. Too much had happened for her to ignore it, at least not now. She didn't know what it was, but something just clicked. For so long, she'd ignored the truth, finding it easier to just brush it under the rug and move on. Maybe it was Sirius. They'd been living together for just over a week now, but so many things had changed. He brought out the playful side in her, the unserious Hermione that she hadn't seen in years. Sure he annoyed the hell out of her some times but more often than not, he made her laugh. What's more, he gave her perspective. She had loved working at St Mungos, it had been a real challenge and she had relished in it, but now, it seemed too impersonal. Sirius had given her perspective; he'd opened her eyes to so many things. Life was too short to spend working at a place where there wasn't any job satisfaction or the feeling of a job well done. There were so many possibilities, so many opportunities and she could have her pick of any of them; she could do something worth while, something she loved. He'd made her see that it was okay to quit because it wouldn't mean her failure, it would just mark the beginning of something new. Maybe it was time to throw out the old and bring in the new. 

Looking down at her wristwatch, Hermione noted the time and picked up her pace, weaving through the crowd of oncoming shoppers; Diagon Alley was always busy this time of year. Christmas was fast approaching and it seemed the majority of wizarding families had the same idea; it was cheaper to get the presents before December, when all the prices skyrocketed. Of course if one looked at it rationally, they would see that the prices tend to go up in October, then double in December. She did her shopping as she went, if she saw something she knew would be perfect in June, then she'd buy it in June and hold on to it. It seemed the easier root to follow, she didn't spend half as much as her other friends and she got in before the Christmas rush; it was the perfect preparation. Except for now; she didn't have anything for Sirius. It was a dilemma and one that had been weighing on her mind the past few days. She didn't know what he liked. Sure she knew how he liked his coffee, how he preferred muggle music to wizarding, and how he seemed to love the television, but she didn't know what to get him. It had to be perfect and she'd be damned if it was anything but.

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she scooted past a couple as they walked down the path, oblivious to everyone else but each other. They used to be like that; Ron and her. Things were so different to the way they used to be. Ron tried really hard, she wouldn't deny him that, but one way or another, things always turned out worse than they were before. She just hoped that today, what ever he wanted to talk about, wouldn't be too damaging. Today was her day off, she had a massive headache despite the hangover potion and she really didn't want to get into another fight. But something told her, despite all her hoping, whatever it was, it wouldn't be good. That something was right. 

As she turned the corner, Hermione stopped dead, her breath catching; Lila's was straight ahead. Her eyes had to be deceiving her, she had to be imaging things. This couldn't be happening – not now. She wanted it to be a bad dream, but rationality told her that it was cold hard fact. It wasn't so much what she was seeing, but the old hurt that seeped back into her bones because of it – that was until she saw a third person sitting at the table, only then did she know what it felt like to have her heart shatter. 


	7. Past Indiscretions

**Author's Note: **_Here's the chapter you've all been waiting for. I've started it off with a little bit from Harry because I thought that getting an insight into what he's thinking/feeling from Sirius' return might be a good idea._

_Special thanks to _Ceredwen, Black'sGirl, caughtinblackseyes, kyokoaurora, Winter's Illusion, wasu, Hypatia Cade, mrs.dr.giggles, CrystalizedHeart, some1 2lazy 2 sign in, kate & D.D _for the leaving the reviews that keep me motivated._

_On another note, if you want to check out the banner and chapter images I've had made for this story go to my bio and the links are there._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**.: Chapter Seven – Past Indiscretions :.**

Monday, November 12, 2004

_9:10AM  
_

Harry couldn't describe it. At first it was just a niggling sense of foreboding easily ignored, but now he couldn't shake it; something bad was about to happen – if it hadn't already. He couldn't explain what it was; there was nothing to suggest that something bad was about to, or had happened, but he just had the feeling that it would. He'd woken up before sunrise with the sudden sense of dread, and since then he hadn't been able to get back to sleep. He didn't know what it was, he didn't even have an inkling as to what he thought was about to happen, but for some reason he knew he wasn't imaging things. During the war he'd learnt to trust his instincts because nine times out of ten, they were right. Right now something was screaming at, telling him that something bad was going to happen, he just didn't know _what_it was. Maybe he was just being paranoid. His whole life had been the make-up of disaster; it had felt like someone was punishing him for a crime he hadn't committed. The Dursleys had been horrible and even now, after everything that had happened during the war, they still were. His aunt and uncle reviled and blamed him for having to go into hiding, but Dudley had surprisingly been the only one to act civil during the whole thing. He got the odd birthday card every now and then from his cousin, something which he did in return out of politeness, but too much had happened for the small courtesy to extend into friendship. It just seemed that for the majority of his life, looking over his shoulder and expecting the worst had been the norm. After the war everything became normal, life became settled and no one had to look over their shoulder in fear. Things had been going so well that it was easy to think that something bad was going to happen; nothing lasted forever.

Too much good had happened for there not to be bad. With Sirius' return and Ginny falling pregnant again, life seemed perfect. Merlin! He didn't know where to start when it came to his godfather. Sirius had been the only real father figure he'd ever had and to lose him had been unbearable. Sure he looked up to Remus as a sort of parenting figure, but with Sirius it was different; he'd been his father's best friend. It was like, in getting to know Sirius he'd been able to get to know his father as well. His godfather acted more like a friend than a role model, but Harry couldn't help but look up to him. He'd gone through so much in his life and he still had enough life in him to laugh off his worries. It was beyond painful when he'd lost him and now that he had him back, he didn't know what to do. Old wounds had opened and it felt as though someone had just rubbed salt in them for the fun of it. He'd gone through hell during the summer after his fifth year. He'd been isolated and felt like the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders, but then, he'd always felt that way. Sirius had stood for the one thing he'd wanted his whole life; a family. Ron and Hermione, not to mention the rest of the Weasleys had opened their arms and hearts to him, treating him like a brother and a son, but it wasn't the same. With Sirius it had felt like he was home. The man had been so close to his parents, especially his father, that he couldn't help but imagine Sirius and James as one in the same. They'd been inseparable and from what he knew, they had been so much alike. When he lost Sirius, he'd lost the second father and the only one he'd ever known. And now, after everything that had happened, he couldn't shake the feeling that something major was about to happen to balance the scales.

"Sickle for your thoughts," jumping suddenly at the unexpected voice, Harry turned around, glaring half-heartedly at his wife.

"You scared me," he stated bluntly, trying to ignore the smirk on Ginny's face.

"Oh, you poor baby, how will you ever survive?" she sighed, sauntering forward with a sly twinkle in her eyes.

"How indeed," he mused, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist and drawing her closer. Leaning forward he gently brushed his lips against hers, relishing in the rare moment they had alone. All it took was a crash from above and the moment was broken. Groaning he pulled back, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "The monster's up," was all he could say. Sure he loved James, but the kid had remarkably bad timing when it came to "mummy and daddy" time.

"No kidding," she grumbled, extracting herself from his arms with a huff. Turning around she walked toward the stairs, grabbing an apple on her way past the kitchen. That was how they'd known she was pregnant; Ginny hated fruit, in fact she avoided it like a disease, but when she was pregnant with James, it was all she wanted. When she'd started craving fruit again, well, it was easy enough to do the math. "Oh, and Harry," she said, turning around with a sly grin. "Don't you dare think this is over,"

"I wouldn't dream of it," grinning, he watched her leave in silent trepidation. Something bad was definitely going to happen and even though Ginny had the remarkable power to make him forget all his problems and fears, this time was different.

-- _10:59AM _--

How could he do this to her? After everything they had been through, after all they'd overcome, he did the one thing that could truly break her heart. She'd given him eight years of her life, of her love, and he repaid her with a shattered dream. She didn't know what to do; he said he loved her, that he wanted to start a family with her, but it was all a lie – it had to be. Their relationship had been on a downward spiral and she would be the first to admit that the 'spark' that had once made their relationship so strong had diminished over time, eventually fading into a false dream of what they had once had. Perhaps that was the reason she held on as long as she had, the reason that she fought for a doomed relationship. She was no fool, she knew that after this there would be nothing left for her to hold on to, and if by some unseen miracle there was, she'd be damned if she let herself fall into a hidden trap of false security. Ron was the only man she had ever loved, he was her first and she had been sure that he would be her last, but now, after everything that had happened she wasn't so sure. Had she deluded herself into thinking that their relationship could work after all this time? Time didn't have anything to do with it, of that she was sure, it was more what had happened during that time more than anything else. But in the end, it didn't matter how much time had passed and it certainly didn't matter whether they were as madly in love as they had been when they were younger; in the end, it was still betrayal.

She could feel the tears building up, but she refused to let them fall. How many times had she cried over Ron? His words could sometimes be scathing and his actions on more than one occasion suggested that she was of no more interest to him than a hatstand. He had once treated her like a queen, showering her with small trinkets and adoring her with every fibre of his being, but somehow things had reverted back to the way they used to be. He went from treating her like his girlfriend, to his friend; she was once again, one of the boys. During their Hogwarts years it had taken him ages to even notice her. Sure she'd been one of his best friends but it had never actually occurred to him that she was more than just a girl who happened to be his friend. It had taken years for him to notice her, so it made sense that it would take only a few more for him to forget her and revert back to his old ways. Could she really be so naïve as to think that after all that had happened, after the war, after everything really, that she could find some shred of happiness? Life was unpredictable, and it was times like these that she remembered it could also be unbelievably cruel.

Biting her lower lip, she considered walking away. Her legs were screaming at her to run, to hide herself away in a small secluded place as far away from the world as possible. She wanted to run, by Merlin did she want to, but something inside her ached for answers. The math was easy, all she had to do was add two and two together and she could come up with the answer, but she didn't want to be the one to figure it out. If he thought she was going to sit back, or ball her eyes out uncontrollably, then he was wrong. She wanted the answers and she wanted him to explain them. Gritting her teeth against the pain, against the knowledge that this would be their end, Hermione did the only thing her Gryffindor courage allowed her to do; she walked forward.

"Ronald," the trembling sensation in her stomach made her want to be sick, but she fought it, knowing that to show how much the whole situation affected her, would be the end of the blind courage that kept her on her feet.

Red hair whipped around, her voice causing a barrage of emotions to cross the blue eyes that stared up at her, fear being the most prominent. She wanted to slap him, scream at him, hit him, throw a slicing hex his way, but fought the urge, knowing that violence would get her no where. She wanted answers and if he was lying half dead and beaten on the floor, then she certainly wouldn't get them. There was also the small matter of innocent blue eyes staring up at her with interest. What type of person would she be to openly attack a man when he had an innocent little child in his arms, a child whose eyes were so similar to his own? She could be no more than three years old, her innocent blue eyes and blonde locks creating a perfect mix of her parents; Ron's eyes and Luna's hair.

It felt like her heart was being ripped out, trodden on and thrown away without care. She fought the tears that threatened to spill, gritting her teeth in an attempt to gain some control. "And what's your name?" she asked, mustering up enough courage to look the little girl in the eyes.

The little girl blinked a few times, squirming out of Ron's arms. "Mina," she said happily, throwing her tiny hand out in greeting.

"Mina," Hermione wanted to scream, to turn and run away and let the tears fall freely but instead she knelt down, taking the little blonde blue-eyed witch's hand and shaking it with her own. "Well Mina, my name's Hermione. I'm an old –" she paused, letting her eyes flicker to the woman sitting in the chair beside Ron, looking at the scene with a slight smile on her face. "Friend – I'm an old friend of your mum's," her voice shook as little Mina smiled happily at her, the childlike innocence in her eyes unbearable.

"Wilhelmina, darling, would you like some ice cream?" Luna's soft, melodic voice asked, sending Hermione's nerves into a flutter; by Merlin did she want to tear the woman's eyes out! The little girl nodded happily at her mother, unaware of the growing tension surrounding the three adults. "See the waiter over there, well, if you ask him really nicely he might get you a bowl and lend you some crayons for that picture you were drawing earlier," obviously there was some prearrangement with the waiter because he seemed to be waiting patiently to their left, a small packet of colouring crayons in his back pocket. "Go on, sweetie,"

Hermione watched the little girl shuffle over to the waiter, hugging her stuffed toy lion to her chest. It was in that moment, Hermione let the controlled façade drop. "How dare you!" she hissed, swivelling around to glare at the uneasy couple as soon as the little girl was out of earshot.

"Hermione, I can –" Ron started in a pleading voice, eyes widening when he saw her reach for her wand.

"I don't want to hear your excuses _Ronald,_" she bristled, ignoring him as he winced at the use of his given name. "And you," she turned around, glaring at the woman who sat calmly in her seat, unaffected by Hermione's sudden change in demeanour. "How dare you come here after everything you put me through and act as though nothing has happened?!" Hermione tried to control her breathing, but found the effort pointless. This woman had destroyed her relationship and now, after three years, she returned set to destroy what was left of her life. "How can you just sit there and pretend like noth –"

"I sit here because I have to Hermione, I assure you I would not be here if it weren't for Wilhelmina's sake," Luna cut in, voice soft and calm in comparison to the bushy-haired witch opposite.

"Hermione –" Ron started.

"I don't want to hear it Ronald!" she all but screeched, absently waving her wand in a circle, casting the _Muffliato _charm around their table, ensuring that neighbouring ears weren't privy to their conversation. "I don't want to hear any of your excuses; all I want are answers, unembellished and purely factual. I don't want to hear the why's or the how's; all I want, Ronald, is to know when you were planning on telling me you had a _daughter_?" she said, voice breaking on the last word.

"Hermione, I –" he stared at her, eyes pleading for her to understand. "I didn't know," he winced as the words left his mouth, jaw clenched in an effort to reign in his temper. "I only found out this morning,"

"Why now?" she asked, rounding on Luna. She was furious with Ron, but she couldn't blame him if he hadn't known. He was obviously _trying_ to do the right thing by telling her now rather than later despite knowing it would destroy their relationship. "Why _now_?" she asked again, throwing all her hatred into the words.

"You told me three years ago that if I ever showed my face again, you would make sure it was the last thing I did," the blonde started serenely, her voice dreamy but with conviction. "And I respected your wishes because of Ronald, the both of you were engaged after all. I found out a couple of months later that I was pregnant with Wilhelmina and I won't lie when I say that I did consider coming back and telling everyone. Little Mina means the world to me and while she may have been born out of wedlock, that doesn't mean she wasn't born of love," Hermione's wand hand twitched at the witch's words. "But nevertheless, you and Ronald were engaged and despite the two years we spent together –"

"Two years?" she choked, the air in her lungs failing. She'd known they'd been together for a while, sneaking around behind her back, but – _two years?!_ Her world was slowly beginning to spiral out of control, falling faster and faster until there was nothing left but a pile of rubble.

"Yes, two years," Luna said, eyes narrowing at the redhead beside her. "You never told her did you?" she queried, voice deadly quiet.

"N-no," Ron replied, voice breaking as he looked between the two women. Hermione struggled to keep her composure, tears of betrayal slowly slipping down her face while Luna remained calm, eyes boring a hole in the side of his head.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," the blonde said through clenched teeth, looking up at her with morose eyes. "I thought he had told you," she continued, slowly turning to glare at her redheaded counter part. "It seems I was wrong,"

"Evidently," Hermione bristled, her knuckles turning white at the sheer force of which she clutched her wand. She couldn't stop the tears, she'd tried to fight them but as soon Luna had said those two words, as soon as the extent of Ron's betrayal had become known to her, she just couldn't stop them. She didn't know how much more she could take, but asked nonetheless. "As I said before; why now?

Luna considered her for a moment, midnight eyes sizing her up. "Wilhelmina's sick," the woman paused and Hermione noticed the trembling of her hands. "I can assure you that I never meant any harm by coming here, I just – Mina has _Malattia di sparizione_," Luna winced, the pain evident in her eyes.

"How could she have gotten that? You would have had to of been in –"

"Italy," Luna cut in, a sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. "We moved there recently after staying with my Aunt in Germany,"

"The disease is easily curable," Hermione started, the wheels of her mind ticking as she tried to come up with a solution, she was a healer after all. "The cells in her body are slowly disintegrating – disappearing if you will – but if I remember correctly, a simple blood transfusion should counteract and fight the disease," she mused, biting her lower lip in thought.

"Indeed, but it has to be from a close blood relative and Mina and I do not share the same blood type,"

"Oh," everything began to click into place.

Luna may have been the bane of her existence for the past few years, but the woman was only here because of her daughter. Malattia di sparizioneliterally translated into Disease of Disappearance, and was commonly contracted in Italy. The disease was deadly when it came to children as it slowly destroyed the cells in their body until they literally disappeared. No one really knew what caused it, or where it had originated from, but what was known, was the cure. If what Luna said was correct, then Wilhelmina would need Ron's blood rather than her mothers, to survive.

"I gather you've had the transfusion done then?" she asked, looking over her shoulder to where the little blonde chattered excitedly to the waiter, drawing picture after picture on the sheets of paper he provided.

"Yes, we had it done first thing this morning," Luna said, voice dreamily quiet. "They said the disease should be completely out of her system by the end of the day,"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip in apprehension. "And your plans after that?"

"Mina wants to stay and get to know her father, who am I to argue with her?" she replied softly, glancing sideways at Ron.

"Well," gulping, Hermione fought the urge to yell, her anger quelled a little by Luna's explanation. "I hope you're the one who plans on telling your mother why we aren't getting married, Ronald," she snapped, deciding it was better to direct her anger at him.

Blanching, Ron looked stricken, eyes wide in terror. "But –"

"Hermione does seem to have a point," Luna cut in, eyes deftly staring off into space, a small smile on her face.

If it was possible, Ron paled further, his freckles sticking out like charcoal against his skin. "She'll kill me," he whispered, blue meeting brown as he looked up imploringly at her.

"I certainly hope so," she replied spitefully, gently twisting the golden ring off her finger, surprised at how much of a relief it was to be rid of it. "Because no matter how much time has passed, or how much has changed, this is on your head, not mine, and no matter how hard you try, the past will always come back to haunt you," gently placing the ring on the table, she glanced over to where Mina sat happily ignorant of everything that had just happened. "Say goodbye to your _daughter_ for me, will you?" she said cuttingly, before turning around and walking away.

Her heart felt as though it were about to explode, all the pent up emotions edging the burning sensation on. It took all her self control not to crumble there and then in the middle of the street. Ron had been at the centre of her life for so long and even if he took the back seat to her career sometimes, she still gave him everything she had to give. The fact that he had been cheating on her for two years with Luna, back when everything had been alright, back when the problems they'd had over the past few years hadn't existed, made the hurt all that much worse. She couldn't blame Luna for coming back when her daughter was ill, but that didn't mean she couldn't resent her for what she had done. In her heart, Luna was to blame, but in her mind, it was all Ron. The blonde witch had tried to do the right thing, she would acknowledge that, but Ron had lied to her even after she'd found out the truth. He had led her to believe that the affair had only been a few months in the making, when in reality it had been going on for years. Was she that undesirable?

She had to stop thinking like it was her fault, like she was the one to blame; last time it had only ended in more heartbreak. Gritting her teeth, she fought the urge to scream as she slipped into a nearby alleyway. If anyone saw her like this, tears flowing freely, heartbroken and looking like a beaten down wreck, then the papers would know within hours. Their wedding was going to be the event of the year and the whole wizarding world had waited and watched in rapture until their nuptials, but now that it wasn't happening, the papers would be running wild with headline after headline. She just wanted a normal life, one where she didn't have to worry about the media or long lost children popping up out of no where. She just wanted it all to end, she wanted a change from the hectic life and a fresh start; she wanted to go home.

Her house was situated in a small, secluded area of the country side. The house in question had belonged to her Aunt Millie, whose husband had inherited a large sum of money from his deceased father. The couple had never had children, so when it came to Hermione, she was their pride and joy. When they'd died a couple of years ago in a muggle car crash, their money had been split between her and her mother, but the estate had been left solely in her care. After she'd found out about Ron and Luna, she'd moved into the large cottage, spending the majority of her time fixing it up, putting all of her emotion and pain at the betrayal into the house. As a result she'd always been reluctant when Ron had asked about moving in, knowing that if he were to betray her again, she wouldn't be able to cope with leaving the house she'd put so much of herself into. To some it was illogical, but to her it made perfect sense; she couldn't live in a house where there were memories of a relationship gone bad. Ron had questioned why she never let him stay over when it came to _her_house, but when she was at his, it was perfectly fine for her to do so. He'd called her a hypocrite that night and she hadn't corrected him because a part of her knew it to be true. If she was honest with herself, she had never really given him a second chance, not fully. She just wanted a change – from her unsatisfying job, to her tired look – she wanted to change it all, to start fresh; all she needed was a little Gryffindor courage.


	8. Start of Something New

**Author's Note: **_Hello everyone, I have a few things to say before you start reading this chapter. When I wrote this I wasn't particularly in the right mood to write something angsty, and as a means to speed the story along a bit, I've set this chapter a month from the last. Now don't fret, you will get to see Sirius' initial reaction to what happened in the next chapter through a flashback/dream, but I really wanted to move the story onto a more positive path. Hell, there'll still be angst (it's what I write best) but I just wanted to speed things up a bit and write something a bit different from my other chapters. _

_The next two chapters are light hearted but trust me when I say after that, things are going to get a hell of a lot more complicated and angsty than before. _

_Life has been really hectic lately and I'm finding it harder to find time to write but don't worry, I always find time – somehow. I'm also working on another story which isn't Sirius/Hermione, so I'm trying to find a way to transition myself from one story to the other without losing my focus. I've also got another story worming its way into my brain, which is technically a big problem, but we'll see what happens later on. -- Oh, before I forget, I don't know if any of you have seen it, but I've written a Hermione/Sirius one-shot, so check it out if you have time._

_Thanks to _Black'sGirl, D.D, potterhead0013, daytimedrama, caughtinblacseyes, ForeverSirius77, kyokoaurora, felena1971, wasu, CrystalizedHeart _& _Siriously Insane _for leaving some great reviews._

_And without further ado, the chapter!_

* * *

**.: Chapter Eight – Start of Something New :.**

Sunday, December 12, 2004

_3:30PM_

It had been one month, one unbelievably cruel month. So much had happened in such a short amount of time that it became incomprehensible to think of her life being any other way. It was like a strange dream, abstracted from the panes of normality. Her life had changed so dramatically since that day and the change, as hard as it had been to imagine at the time, was for the better. It still hurt like hell; the burning pain of that day haunting her dreams, served as a constant reminder of what she had lost and what she had gained. Her bones ached and her heart still bled for the idiot that had crushed it, but the pain was slowly beginning to wane. It was the first time in years that she felt like her old self, felt like the old Hermione, the exuberant and ambitious bushy haired know-it-all that had enough courage to step out on her own and take the world on head first. She still had her insecurities, the persistent need to project a false sense of unwavering confidence being one of them. She had always felt as though her best was never good enough, partly because of her heritage. That wasn't to say she wasn't proud of her heritage, because she was, it was more or less the fear of not being good enough that got to her.

The day her Hogwarts letter came had been one of the best and most terrifying experiences of her life. She had never entertained the notion of magic, nor the idea of there being a whole new world hidden away in broad daylight, but when a stern looking woman arrived on her doorstep claiming she was a witch, that notion was swiftly swept under the carpet. Ever since that day she had felt the insatiable need to learn everything she could about the magical world, knowing that she wouldn't stand a chance if she knew little to nothing. She was terrified of being substandard in a world she knew nothing about and that insecurity, to some degree, had carried on throughout her Hogwarts years and stayed with her even now. Sure she put the brave face on, squaring her shoulders and holding her head high whenever those pitying eyes glanced her way, but inside, she felt like a lost little girl trying to find her way home.

Ron had broken her heart, crushed it in one of the cruelest ways, but in the end, if she was truly honest with herself, it had probably been the best thing for her. She would have fought for their relationship, grasping at straws wherever she could; days would have turned into weeks, and weeks into months. In the end, she would have talked herself into marrying him, knowing deep down that it was doomed for failure. She had loved him so ardently at the beginning, that maybe the reason she fought as hard as she did, the reason she held on for so long, was because she was afraid of losing that. They had been together for so long and she had been terrified of having to start over. She had spent eight years of her life with him. What if it took another eight to find someone else? In hindsight, she knew that the relationship wouldn't have gone anywhere, but that didn't ease any of the pain, if anything it added to it.

She had wasted eight years of her life fighting for a lost dream, and now after everything that had happened, she was damned if she wasted the years she had left. After initially getting over the shock, instead of apparating home like she had intended to, Hermione had gone to work. It was often said that a person shouldn't make any rash, or life altering decisions when they were experiencing depression or an emotional crisis, and normally Hermione would have taken heed to that little bit of advice, but at the time, she hadn't. It could easily be argued that she hadn't been thinking straight and that her judgment had been skewed somewhat due to an onslaught of emotions, but to her, she hadn't been thinking more clearly in her life. She had wasted so much of her life living up to the expectations of others that she had forgotten to live for herself at times. That wasn't to say her life had been miserable up until now, because it hadn't been. It had just been good where it could have been great.

She had quit her job at St Mungos that day, ignoring her fellow healers pleas for her to reconsider. Why stay in a job where she felt no satisfaction? Why stay when all it did was put her in a foul mood? It was true that the job did have its rewards, the pay and being able to save lives on a daily basis, being only two of them. But the cons far outweighed the pros when she examined it in relation to her life. She felt no guilt or failure at handing in her resignation, only the promise of something new. Sirius' words had played on her mind, reinforcing her decision and making it more resolute. Now she was in uncharted waters and anything could happen.

Coughing uncontrollably, a thick haze of dust caught in her throat, Hermione tried to sidestep her way past the debris without tripping over. Shortly after quitting her job, the reality of being unemployed hit her hard and for the second time that day, she had acted on impulse. The Poisoned Pen Bookstore was a small but reasonably well sized shop in the centre of Hogsmead, and had been up for sale for the better part of a year. Despite being a rundown and haggard looking place, Hermione had seen its potential and pounced on the opportunity to buy it. And now she was here, trapped in what looked like a war zone, while the builders tore through yet another wall. It was easy enough to redecorate and redesign the shop to suit her tastes, but when it came to extending the shop, the ministry had insisted that trained builders specializing in fortifying and renewing old structures, be there. It had something to do with the structure's magical stability and safety regulations, so she didn't argue too much, it just made opening sooner rather than later a whole lot harder. Her ideal open date would be before Christmas, but the fact that Christmas was only thirteen days away, made that near impossible.

She'd contacted Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts Headmistress, to ask when the students had their next Hogsmead trip, and had been mortified to find out that it was in three days time. Her plan had been to open on that day for obvious reasons, but sometimes things don't go the way they're planned to. Sirius still believed it could be done, providing the builders finished up today. All the books and the furniture had arrived, it was simply a matter of redecorating and stocking the shop. So she was here, observing with a mild anxiety as the builders moved about the store. Everything looked in order, if you didn't count the odd piles of rubble here and there; she just hoped to god that they finished today.

"Excuse me?" a portly looking man made his way toward her, a role of black parchment in his hand.

"Yes?" she answered a little apprehensively, eyeing the man with interest. She could have sworn she'd seen him from somewhere before but she just couldn't put a name to the face.

"You the owner?" he asked, mouth set in a grim line. She nodded warily; this couldn't be good. "Sign here," the abruptness of his voice made her eyes narrow instinctively. She was sure she'd seen him before.

"And what exactly am I signing Mr – I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name?" she challenged, brown eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Parkinson, Gerald Parkinson," he sneered, seemingly impressed with himself at her shocked expression. "And you're signing my behavioral slip," he snapped, thrusting the small piece of parchment in her hand impatiently.

She tried not to look too affronted by the rude tone of his voice, but found it was hard not to. At first she was confused; why would a Parkinson be working on a construction site? But as the wheels of her mind clicked into place, it made perfect sense. After the war, the ministry had been hard pressed by the public to catch and convict known Death Eaters, as well as implicating certain families that were suspected of dark dealings during the war. It had been hard at first to accumulate enough evidence against certain individuals to warrant an investigation, but as time passed, people began to slip up. Certain crimes warranted certain punishments, but the majority of people hadn't been sent to Azkaban due to a lack of evidence. Gerald Parkinson, Fernaco Nott and Edric Zabini were just a few of many, who had somehow managed to escape a prison sentence despite being found guilty by the Wizengamot of war crimes. As a result the ministry had been forced to take action where the law had failed. It was decided that for the individuals to be allowed back into society, they had to be stripped of any privileges they may have had, their money for example. After a period of ten years, if the persons in question had deemed themselves trustworthy and able to hold a steady, _honest_ job, then their money and estates would be returned to them. To say that the act was controversial would have been a bit of an understatement, but then it had succeeded where the law had not.

"And _why_ pray tell, am I signing your behavioral slip Mr Parkinson?" she asked in a clipped tone, scanning the numerous columns and subcategories penned on the parchment. She knew it had something to do with his being able prove that he could successfully blend into society and work a steady job, but she decided not to make it easy for him, he had after all, been incredibly rude beforehand.

"Well," he ground out, obviously trying to bite off whatever derogatory comment that was on the tip of his tongue. "I gather you know of my situation Miss –?"

"Granger," she replied pleasantly, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face. "Hermione Granger," she felt like adding war hero, Harry Potter's best friend and your bloody worst nightmare, but stopped herself just in time. Gerald Parkinson was a Death Eater, she had no doubt about that, but it had been impossible to convict him after the Dark Lord's fall; the Dark Mark had been enchanted somehow, so when _he_ fell, it disappeared with him.

"Granger?" his voice quavered a little, but he remained emotionless. She could see his mind working over time, trying to find a way to get her to sign his slip and get away unscathed, obviously at the foremost of his thoughts. "Well, how, _pleasant_," he looked like he wanted to gag.

"Indeed, so tell me what I have to sign, but more importantly tell me why I _should_ sign?" she couldn't stop the smirk from spreading across her lips as she noticed the pearly beads of sweat forming on his brow. He was nervous, and so he should be.

"The slip is from the ministry as well you know," he snapped, wincing seconds later at the outburst. She almost laughed; he _had_ to be nice to her. "And as such, you need to sign off, being an employer of my services, that I have completed my job to a satisfactory standard," he paused, seemingly contemplating his next words. "And to say that I have conducted myself in a civilized and respectable manner appropriate to society."

"Ah," the smirk on her face grew at his words. She knew she shouldn't be tormenting him like she was, but the fact remained that the man had been a Death Eater, or at the very least an associate of one. He wouldn't get off easy. "Well, Mr Parkinson, I have only one question that I wish to ask you, though it is of no relation to your slip," she said, waving the black piece of parchment in the air for emphasis. "I would like to know when you and your colleagues estimate finishing this job?" there was no harm in asking; hopefully the answer would prove to her liking.

"I'm not at liberty to say," he snapped, his beady eyes flashing in anger.

"I am the owner, Mr Parkinson, of this shop and I think it is my right to know when I may be able to in fact, open it," the builders were doing their job, following ministry jurisdiction and she was in no way complaining about their capability to do the job, but the fact remained, that this _man_, was grating on her last nerve. Just as she was about to open her mouth to continue, a silvery voice silenced her.

"Come now Granger, you make it sound as though Gerald isn't doing his job. You _are_ doing your job, aren't you _Gerald_?" the silent threat in his words, were not lost on the man.

"Oh sod it, Malfoy! I can speak for myself," she huffed, ignoring the lazy smirk on the blonde's face. Time had been good to him, especially his looks.

"I know, sometimes I do find myself wondering if you will ever shut up," he drawled, sidestepping a pile of wood as he made his way toward her. She could see the slight sneer of disgust on his face as he maneuvered past a large pile of dust that had risen from the floor. "But I've long given up on that dream, now do sign whatever it is you have to sign, I don't have all day," he intoned haughtily, brushing invisible specks of dust off his robes.

"Good, then by all means run along," she snapped, shooing him away with her hands.

"Ah, but then my little visit would have been for naught," he smirked, glancing casually at Gerald Parkinson whose mouth stood agape. "And to think I had to put up with Miranda's whining for a whole day, just to come here, be attacked by dust and have you yell at me. My, my, my – didn't your parents ever teach you any manners?" he tsked, eyes dancing with challenge.

"I'm sure you'll survive Malfoy," rolling her eyes, she summoned a quill and deftly scribbled her name and ticked what boxes she thought appropriate on the black parchment, before chucking it back at the elder Parkinson. "Now what did you say about Miranda?"

The predatory smirk on his face suddenly made her regret signing the papers. "You did something I said," he intoned casually, the smirk turning into a grin. "Well, I'll be damned I –"

"Oh shut up, will you? I didn't sign it because you told me to, believe it or not, but I actually have somewhere to be right now," she snapped, eyes bristled with anger.

"Whatever you say Granger, one of these days you'll admit that you can't resist me," he smirked, eyes inspecting the invisible dirt beneath his nails nonchalantly.

"Oh please!" throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at his irritating smirk. "I'd have to be desperate to even consider dating you," she huffed, ignoring the arrogant twinkle in his eyes.

"You wound me," he cried in mock pain, a hand carefully placed over his heart as he dramatically fell backwards.

"What do you want Malfoy?" she laughed, shaking her head despite herself, at his antics.

"Here," straightening up, he handed her a green envelope. "Miranda _insisted_ that you be invited to our Christmas party this year, to annoy me no doubt, but she said that you probably wouldn't be going to the _Burrow_," the word dripped with distaste. "Due to the circumstances, so it would be rude not to invite you," he finished in a lazy drawl.

"And _you're_ giving this to me why?" she arched an eyebrow, curious.

She watched in amusement as the color, or rather what little there was, drained from his face. "I don't _like_ you or anything Granger," he snapped. "I simply hate Weaslebee a whole lot more," straightening his robes haughtily, nose thrust up in the air with indignation, she watched as he made his way to the door. It was hard not to laugh. Here was Draco Malfoy, spoilt pureblood and cunning Slytherin, running away because the question was too much for him. It shouldn't have surprised her, it was the Slytherin way after all, but the fact that it was such a simple question, made the scene all the more hilarious, not to mention ridiculous. "Oh, and Granger," he turned around. "Do _try_ and look presentable, I know it's hard but I do have a reputation to uphold,"

"Why you little –"

"Like the new do Granger," smirking triumphantly, Draco tilted his head by means of a goodbye. "It makes that beehive you call hair make you look less, well, like a banshee for lack of a better word," before she could react, with a half turn, he was gone.

_5:12PM_

"Sirius!" flinging the front door open, its hinges protesting against the sudden attack, Hermione all but ran into hallway, her muddy shoes sliding against the wooden floorboards dangerously.

Normally she would have scowled and berated anyone who dared step into her house with their feet so muddy, but she was far too distracted to care at her own hypocrisy at the moment. She'd just come back from the shop, which had thankfully been vacated of all builders. It had taken a while, but she had finally found the answer she was looking for and was thrilled to discover that her ideal opening date wasn't as impossible as she had originally thought. Gerald Parkinson had begrudgingly accepted defeat after she had pestered him for the better part of an hour, after Malfoy's impromptu visit. The man had seemed mortified at the thought of her attending the Malfoy's annual Christmas Ball, so rather than asking the site manager, she had decided to pester the man for an answer instead. In some ways it was the immature and illogical route, but a little bit of pay back never hurt anyone.

"Sirius, for the love of Merlin, where are you?!" she cried, skidding past the open archway on her right as she ran into the main living area.

Scanning the area frantically, her damp hair whipped about, its short strands stinging as they collided with the side of her face. It hadn't taken much persuasion from the hairdresser to cut the long tresses all off, especially since she had only ever had it that long because Ron had liked it that way. With her curls, the long bob her mother and hairdresser had convinced her into choosing, had effectively shrank, turning her once bushy mess of hair, into loose ringlets that fell just bellow her chin. Her hair was still a bushel curls, untamed and wild, but it looked slightly less chaotic.

"Siri–" she began, starting up the stairs.

"What?" came the muffled reply from below. Turning around, she slowly made her way back toward the archway, more calmly than before. "What you screaming about now?" his voice sounded, disgruntled with what she guessed was disturbed sleep.

She had to suppress a laugh as she entered the lounge room which branched off from the hallway. He had obviously been sleeping on the couch, head buried under a mass of light blue couch cushions as his legs were strewn at odd angles in an effort to keep from falling. Looking somewhat dazed yet peeved at the same time, he half glared at her through sleep ridden eyes, chucking a cushion at her for good measure.

"What, did I wake you?" she asked innocently, smiling despite herself.

"What do you think?" he snapped, standing up to stretch his muscles, his shirt lifting as he arched back with a yawn.

"Sorry to disturbed your nap, old man," she laughed, teasingly. "But I've got some great news about the shop," pushing the few stray strands of hair that was still plastered to her face, she smiled brilliantly. "They finished this afternoon and said that the shop could be opened in a couple of days,"

"So that means we've only got –" Sirius started, eyes suddenly alert.

"Two full days and tonight to make it ready for opening day," she finished, nodding her head in emphasis.

"Well what are we waiting for?" he asked, suddenly jumping at the chance to do something worthwhile.

Even though Sirius had been back for almost six weeks now, Hermione couldn't help but get the feeling that he felt somewhat useless. He'd gotten over that initial stage where everything was wondrous and exciting because he was finally a free man, but now he seemed, for lack of a better word, bored. She knew that pestering him would get her nowhere, but she really believed that he needed to get a job. Now that he was a free man, he could start moving on with his life and maybe make something of the years he had left. She wasn't a fool to think that he would want to live with her forever, so it made sense for him to start saving for his own place considering the majority of the Black family fortune had been donated to the war orphans fund, by Harry and Ginny a couple of years back. She loved the company he provided and the fact that they were the most unlikely of roommates made it all the more enjoyable. He complimented her and vice versa; where she was serious, he was flippant and where he was ignorant, she was informed. They made an unlikely duo, but it worked.

"Nothing," she laughed. "Except first we need paint, and then we need food so we have enough energy to paint, but other than that, I can't think of anything," he really did make mundane things seem invigorating just by the twinkle he got in his eyes.

"Minor setbacks," he shrugged them off nonchalantly, grey eyes alight in excitement.

"Well then, Mr Black, what are we waiting for?" she laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him outside into the pouring rain.


	9. Painted Mornings

**Author's Note:** _I have started this chapter with a memory/dream of Sirius' reaction which I'm sure you're all eager to read. This chapter, much like the last, is more light-hearted than what I've previously written. But I promise that the next chapter will be very tense and you'll find out why later on in the chapter. Again, no cliffhanger – I must be going soft or something!_

_Special thanks to _ForeverSirius77, CrystalizedHeart, Black'sGirl, kyokoaurora, Winter's Illusion, some1 2lazy 2 sign in _&_ MissBecky _for leaving those reviews I love reading. _

_If you have any criticism, I'd be happy to hear it as long as it's constructive. You know you haven't written your best when your reviews lag a bit. _

_Read, review and enjoy!_

* * *

**.: Chapter Nine – Painted Mornings :.**

Monday, December 13, 2004

_7:05AM_

_Shuffling forward, her feet kicking up dust, she tried to quell the tears that threatened to spill. She had cried so much over the past few hours that it was almost unfathomable that there were any tears left to shed. It felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her chest, leaving only a gaping whole in its wake. The world she had carefully built over the past eight years had just fallen from underneath her, and in a moment of haste, she had done the one thing her father had warned her against. She had made a rash decision, an unplanned, spontaneous and life changing decision. Her father had always told her that any decision she made in life had to be thought out carefully, the pros and cons clear in her mind. But in a moment of weakness, all rationality fled. She had quit her job and bought a rundown, shabby looking bookstore in the heart of Hogsmead only an hour after finding out the true extent of Ron's betrayal. She could plead a momentary lapse of sanity all she liked, but the truth was she had _wanted_ to do it. _

_Life was meant to be lived to the fullest, not spent drowning in sea of lost dreams. She had always dreamt of opening a bookstore, but when the war was at its peak, she had changed her dream to suit others. Becoming a healer had never been her first choice, but after all the casualties they had suffered during the war, she hadn't really had a choice. Everyone expected her to do it, so who was she to disappoint? And now, after everything that had happened, she couldn't say she regretted her hasty decision. It was what she had wanted to do, what she had dreamt of doing for so long, that instead of feeling regret, she only felt the promise of what was to come. _

_Glancing down at her muggle wristwatch, she silently cursed. She wanted to go home, to curl up on the couch with a glass of wine, or maybe a bottle, and a large block of chocolate. She wanted to watch an old black and white movie, maybe go through a couple boxes of tissues and just hole herself up and hide away from the world for couple of days. The problem was, in order to go home she had to face Sirius. She was afraid, mostly of how he'd react, but also for the fact that he would be the first person to know from her, what had happened. There was just something so final about admitting to another person that it was over, that Ron and her would never be. Sirius would react badly to the news, of that she was certain. It was because of his volatile nature and the fact that she was afraid of breaking down in front of him, that she had prolonged the journey home as long as she had. She wanted to tell him, but then at the same time she didn't; it was too hard._

_He would be pacing back and forth, an angry but worried scowl on his face. Sirius was both protective and fierce when it came to those he cared about, and she knew that the moment he found out what Ron had done to her, he'd rush off without any prior thought to the consequences of his actions. He'd want to pummel Ron into the ground and she was afraid that she'd let him. _

_With a heavy sigh, she wiped away the few stray tears that stained her face, and sucked in a deep breath. She had to bite the bullet and go home some time. Glancing around the empty park, she hurried over to a large clump of bushes, the words _destination, determination _and_ deliberation_ running through her mind. She felt the familiar tugging sensation at her naval, and with half a turn, the front of her house clear in her mind, she was gone. Stumbling slightly, she clutched the fence for support, her head still dizzy from the apparition. Before she had a chance to regain her composure, a loud barking voice startled her, the sound of boots hitting the ground in what she guessed was a stomping manner, following. _

"_Where the hell have you been?" his voice snapped. "You've been gone for nearly eight hours, I thought something had happened. Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" she sneaked a glance at him, silently willing herself enough courage to tell him what had happened. _

"_Why, did it work?" she asked, voice cracking as she tried to fight the tears. She wanted nothing more than to launch herself at him, and have his arms wrapped tight around her, comforting her. All she wanted was to be held, to feel safe, protected. _

"_Hermione," she heard the change in his voice; angry to wary. "Hermione, what happened?" he asked, voice laced with concern. Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, she looked up. "What the hell did he do?" he asked, eyes sparked with instantaneous anger. _

"_Sirius, calm down," she pleaded weakly, knowing that he would do anything but._

"_Calm down?!" he yelled. "You get piss drunk last night, go on about how it's _his _fault and not yours, crying your bloody eyes out because of that prick," she couldn't help but wince at the harshness of his voice. "And now you come home, looking like death warmed up because you've been crying_ again_, and you tell me to calm down?" it looked as though steam would spurt out his ears at any moment. He was beyond angry, he was livid. "What the hell happened?"_

"_You really want to know?" she snapped, furiously wiping the tears from her eyes. "You really want to know why I feel like my whole world is crumbling to pieces? Fine, I'll tell you!" she yelled, glaring mutinously, all the anger and hurt rising to the surface._

"_Well?" he asked impatiently, arms crossed over his chest with indignation._

"_He cheated alright!" she screamed, letting all her emotions loose. "He had an affair three years ago with one of my friends, a woman who I was going to ask to be one of my bridesmaids. But do you want to know the _best_ part of it?" she snapped snidely, arms shaking by her sides. "He has a dau –" she shook her head, lip trembling as she tried to fight the tears. "He has a daughter,"_

_Silence reigned._

_She could feel her arms shaking, her heart thumping against her chest as all the emotions, all the pain she had tried to suppress but failed at, crashed down upon her. Pain, hurt, anger, betrayal, disgust, loathing, jealousy; the list went on, never ending as each and every emotion destroyed what little composure she had left. She was painfully aware of the deafening silence and the blank, but slowly changing look on his face. Sirius was a master at hiding his emotions, at guarding himself from the vulnerability of others knowing what he was feeling, but she had slowly begun to understand the little quirks that gave him away. His hand twitched, jaw clenched and the endless grey of his eyes, darkened; he was beyond anger, beyond anything that didn't involve his fists connecting with Ron's jaw. _

"_Siri –" she started, voice choked as she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat._

"_I'll kill him," his voice was deadly quiet, calm with determination. It would have been better had he yelled, had he shouted and kicked up a storm. But this quiet, this deadly calm, had her worried._

"_Si –" her voice shook, uneven and raspy._

"_I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him," the words made her shudder. She believed him. No sooner had he said the words, she watched in horror as he started to turn, a determined and slightly fierce look on his face. He was going to apparate, and by Merlin, he was going to kill Ron! _

"_Sirius, no!" she cried, mustering up all of her strength and lunging forward to tackle him to the ground. _

_A large part of her wanted to let him go, to give him free reign to do what he liked to Ron. But her rational side won over, telling her that no good would come of the act. Sirius was a free man, probably for the first time in his life, and she didn't want him to ruin that for her. Ron wasn't worth it. Sure he deserved everything he had coming to him, but she didn't want him to die, not at the expense of another man's freedom. She'd be damned if he ruined another person's life tonight._

"_Sirius," she said quietly, raising her head from his chest. "Please, just –" he stared back at her, grey eyes alight in anger, but softened in understanding. "He's not worth it, Merlin knows it's taken me long enough to realize that, but he is not worth it," she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand._

"_Okay," his voice cut through the night air, not entirely sure. She knew that no matter what she said, he would eventually face Ron and fists would be thrown, and hexes cast. But for the time being she was content with knowing that the crisis had been diverted._

"_Can we go inside?" she asked quietly, voice meek as a sudden wave of tiredness washed over her. She'd had one hell of a day and was mentally and physically exhausted; to curl up on the couch in front of the fire, was all she wanted to do._

"_Sure," his voice whispered in her ear. She felt him shift beneath her and was dully aware of being hoisted into his arms. Laying her head on his chest, her arms automatically wrapped around his neck. Sleep was calling her, but she fought it off. "We'll go inside, don't you wor –" _

Jolting awake, she tried to ignore the offending rays of sunlight that burst through the window, lighting up the small room. Her dream had been strange, though a dream it hadn't been at all. Sometimes her memories called to her in her sleep, other times it was a strange abstract world, where colors and random objects collided. This had been a memory, one she'd rather forget, but kept remembering night after night. She didn't know what it was about this particular memory that called to her, but it did. Sirius had been furious that night, but he'd also calmed himself enough to understand what she needed rather than what she wanted. It would have been so easy for him to ignore her, to act on instinct and go after Ron despite her wishes, but he hadn't, at least not that night.

The papers had had a field day when news escaped that their relationship was over, yet Ron was nowhere to be found. He'd showed up a couple of days later with a black eye, a few broken ribs and a fractured wrist. She had tried not to worry too much about it, arguing that it could have been anyone, but somehow she knew deep down, that it was Sirius' doing and no one else. It could have easily been anyone, yet somehow she knew it was him, and the worst part was, she was silently thankful for what he had done. She wouldn't wish harm on anyone, but the fact was Ron had deserved every piece of hostility and retribution thrown at him.

Everyone had taken badly to the news, including his family. Fred and George had decided to use him as their unofficial guinea pig, testing all of their new products on him, harmful or not, whereas Ginny had spontaneously disowned him as her brother. Harry had tried to talk reason into his wife, but Ginny was adamant that her decision was final. She actually felt sorry for Harry; he was stuck in an awkward position, and no matter which way he turned, he couldn't win. Molly and Arthur had been disgusted by their son's actions, but the moment the Weasley matriarch's eyes landed on little Mina, all animosity was forgotten. It was obvious that Molly wore the pants in the relationship because Arthur followed whatever decision she made, albeit with less understanding. Ron hadn't had it easy and neither had Luna. She couldn't help but feel as though they had both gotten what they'd deserved. Ron and Luna may have inspired a great dislike where ever they went because of what they'd done to her, but little Mina quelled it with her carefree smile and bright, innocent blue eyes. Everyone loved Mina, so their hate for what her parent's had done began to ease over the past month, until only a select few still held a strong animosity for the couple.

Sirius may not have said anything outright, but she could tell from the way his body stiffened whenever Ron's name was mentioned, that he still held a deep hatred for the man. By no means had she forgiven Ron for what he'd done, but her anger had begun to ease and her hatred wane. There was no point in living in the past, what was done was done, and there was no way to change that. She accepted the fact that Ron had cheated, that he'd had an affair with a woman whom she'd held in high regard and counted as one of her closest friends. Wilhelmina was a product of that affair, and as much as she wanted to forget and ignore the situation, she couldn't. The Weasley's were a permanent fixture in her life, they were constant and unwavering, boisterous and caring, but most of all, they were family. As long as Mina existed, she would have to deal with the fact that she would never be able to forget what had happened, because every time there was a Christmas, a birthday, a wedding, or just a special occasion, she would be reminded of what had happened.

Groaning tiredly, she buried her head deeper into her pillow, ignoring the vibrating chuckle as it moved. Swinging her arm outward, she slapped away Sirius' hand, ignoring his protest. She was far too tired to care about what he wanted; she wanted to sleep and if he was to be her pillow, then so be it. She had never been a morning person.

"You know," he laughed, poking her in the ribs for the fun of it. "As much as it pains me to say it, you need to get your pretty little arse up and start moving," she could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Tilting her head up, she whacked his arm playfully. "And why, pray tell, should I get my pretty little arse up, and start moving?" she laughed, eyebrow raised in question.

"Because it's," at this he grabbed her wrist and turned it so he could see the face of her watch. "Already seven thirty and you need at least an hour, give or take, to storm around, huffing and puffing to your hearts content, until you're awake enough to realize that we still have to finish painting and start stocking the shelves," he laughed as her eyes widened. "Not to mention that you finally caved and promised Molly that we'd to go to the Burrow for dinner tonight,"

Groaning, she buried her head against his chest. "Don't remind me," she muttered darkly, silently cursing herself for that moment of weakness.

Molly had been on her case for weeks now, berating her any way she could for not attending the family's weekly Monday night dinners. She'd gotten off easy enough for the first two weeks, but after that Molly had thought that there was no real reason she couldn't attend. Hermione knew deep down that the Weasley matriarch was only trying to do the right thing. But her wanting the _whole_ family together and what was appropriate and right for the time, were completely different things. No good would come of her and Sirius going there, especially when Ron himself, including Luna and Wilhelmina, would be there. There was only so much a person could take before they cracked, and cracked she had. Molly was thrilled, Sirius and her, not so much.

"Regretting it much?" he laughed, pushing her off as he sat up, stretching his tired limbs.

"Of course," she snapped irritably, spreading herself out against the floor, eyes locked onto the freshly painted bronze ceiling. The kink in her neck was really starting to bug her, but then she supposed that's what she got for falling asleep on the floor.

"As much fun as wallowing in self pity is, I hate to break it to you bu –"

"I've got to get up, I know!" she snapped, effectively cutting of his words. "My god, when did you start sounding like my mother?" she watched in satisfaction as his nose screwed up in disgust. _Serves him right_, she thought gloatingly.

"Take that back," his voice edged with warning, but the playfulness of his smile told otherwise.

"No," she said defiantly, a small but growing smile on her face.

"Take. That. Back," he pronounced each word deliberately, with what she could only describe as an evil glint in his eyes.

"Make me," she dared him with a smirk, her eyes taking on an impish sparkle of their own. She knew that he would never back down from a challenge, especially one posed by her, and relished in the fact that she still had her wand.

"Well," he shrugged, looking about the room casually before his eyes landed on her. "You asked for it,"

Instinct took over as she heard the tin of paint fly through the air. Rolling over, she narrowly missed the waterfall of paint as it crashed to the floor, splashing the dark floorboards white. Scowling, she looked at the painted mess with disdain; it would take forever to clean up. Before she could think properly, another attack was launched and she had choice but to roll in the opposite direction and onto the paint she had tried to escape earlier. She could feel it stick to her clothes, her arms and cheek as she rolled over, and cringed at the feeling. Flicking her wand, she aimed at two paint tins to her left and threw them forward in defense, smirking as the bronze paint hit its target. He stood there, completely covered in bronze paint, oozing in large clumps down his body. She laughed at the dumbstruck look on his face, relishing in the momentary victory.

"Oh, you are so going to pay for that," he laughed, the serious voice he had been aiming for, dying at the sight she made.

Before she knew what happened, he had lunged after her, feet sliding on the slippery paint beneath. She squealed, legs flailing about as she tried to get away, his arm pinning her to the ground, curved around her waist and clamped down so she couldn't get away.

"Don't you dare," she gasped out, glaring pointedly up at him.

"Oh, I dare," he grinned, hands beginning their torture. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to get her to bend to his every whim.

"Sirius, don –" her words died, laughter replacing them as he proceeded his torture, tickling her sides to his hearts content. She was deathly ticklish and try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears that welled up in her eyes, accompanying her squeals of protest. Kicking her legs out, she aimed for his knee but missed miserably, the unbearable torture clouding her judgment.

"Now, now, love, that isn't very nice," he tsked, laughing at her pointed glare. "It's quite simple really, all you have to do is surrender and this will all be just a bad memory,"

There was only one thing to do. "N-never," she croaked out, biting her lip to keep from laughing as his ministrations doubled.

"Say it," he taunted.

"N-no," she laughed, twisting her face away, his own hovering just above her, paint dripping from the tips of his hair.

"Say it," it was near unbearable. She couldn't take anymore.

"I give! For the love of Merlin, Sirius, I give!" she cried, rolling out from underneath him when his hands stopped their ticklish torment.

Scrambling forward, she put as much distance as she could between them, gasping in between breaths. She hated the fact that he knew her weakness, but couldn't muster up enough hostility to hate _him_ for it. Sirius used things to his advantage whenever he could and it amazed her that he hadn't been placed in Slytherin with the rest of his family. She supposed it was the playful and often mischievous part of his nature that had saved him from the manipulative wiles of Slytherin house. But then she couldn't presume to know anything. The sorting hat had placed him in Gryffindor for a reason, and that reason was his heart. He was strong even when he was weak, because he never gave up. He always fought to the bitter end. No matter what traits of a Slytherin he may have, he was a Gryffindor through and through.

With a glare, she grabbed a leftover takeout box and chucked it at his head. He ducked it easily and stared back at her with an amused smile. "I hate you," she pouted, throwing him scathing look before turning around to pick up another empty container.

"No you don't," he laughed, moving forward with ease, sidestepping the mess they had made earlier.

"Yes, I do," she snapped, not believing a word that came out of her mouth.

"No, you don't," he repeated and she jumped, dropping the takeout boxes as his arms encircled her waist.

"Fine, I'll humor you. Why don't I hate you?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Because you love me," he said seriously. "Everyone does,"

Laughing, she spun around in his arms, turning to face him. "Everyone does _not_ love you, Sirius," she said as if she were talking to a small child.

With a dramatic pout that served to make her laugh harder, he replied. "They do too," but she could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he didn't mean it. "I'm loveable,"

"As snuffles maybe," she snorted, ducking underneath his arms and scooting out of the way. "But as you," at this she turned and looked him up and down, laughing despite herself at the sight he made covered in paint. "Not so much," she shrugged indifferently, smirking at the look on his face.

"Liar," he challenged, creeping forward.

"I am not!" she laughed. "I'm only telling the truth. As a dog you are quite lovable but as a person, well that's another matter entirely," she smiled teasingly at him before turning around and making her way to the front door.

With a flick of her wand, the painted mess on the floor vanished and she sighed in relief, grateful that the paint sticking charm they used hadn't applied to the floor. She'd exerted herself more than she ever had this morning and by god, was she dying for a coffee. She needed her caffeine fix.

A loud bark made her jump and she whirled around. Rolling her eyes at the large dog in the middle of the room, splattered patches of bronze paint attached to its fur, she laughed. "Well come on then Snuffles, I want a coffee and you know how I get when I _don't _get my coffee," with a bark and wag of his tale, he barreled after her.

Maybe her day wouldn't be so bad, at least not until it came time for dinner.


	10. Dinner Disasters

**Author's Note: **_First of all, I am terribly sorry for the long wait. I've had some muse problems and family dramas to deal with. This chapter is slightly longer than the others but only slightly. The chapters might be a bit slower in coming since my school work is starting to pile up and I have another story I'm working on at the moment but please bare with me. _

_Thank you to _caughtinblackseyes, Black'sGirl, CrystalizedHeart, kyokoaurora, MissBecky, Lady Sarai Black, Sampdoria, Maridee, Winter's Illusion, D.D, ForeverSirius77 _&_ some1 2lazy 2 sign in _for reviewing the last chapter._

* * *

**.: Chapter Ten – Dinner Disasters :.**

Monday, December 13, 2004

_6:02PM_

She didn't want to do this; she _really _didn't want to do this. Molly had backed her into a corner and now she had no way out. There would be no excuse, no white lie or hurried explanation that could get her out of this now. She had no choice but to accept the fact that there was no way out, that she was cornered and trapped into doing what she had promised the Weasley matriarch she would do. She had to go in and face them, no matter how hard or heartbreaking it was. She had no choice, a promise had been made and she couldn't go back on her word. It didn't matter that her heart bled, or her bones ached; it didn't matter that her heart had been broken and her confidence shattered. Molly had asked her to do this and she had agreed, somewhat unwilling, but agreed she had, and now there was no backing out. She didn't want to do it, but she had to.

Sirius had promised that he'd be with her the whole night, not necessarily holding her hand, but standing guard nonetheless. By no means was he her knight in shining armour, but a close friend and one she had come to rely on so much over the past month or so, that on some days he came close to the fairytale cliché. He'd been a breath of fresh air in a time when her whole world had become hazy, and she wondered how she had ever managed without him. It was true that he had his moments, but the good far outweighed the bad. He was the joker, the prankster where laughter was the merlot of life. But he knew when laughter was not the key, he knew when he had to be serious and the easy transition from each role had her amazed. He was a conundrum, a puzzle where all the pieces were jagged and raw from the life he had lived, sculpted in to an artful tragedy. His life had been a hard one and she loved him for the courage he had to move forward with only the future in his sight. Maybe he was her knight in shining armour, a man who inspired her to stand with her shoulders squared and her head held high. He gave her strength where she thought she had none.

"Ready?" his voice broke through the musings of her mind, bringing her vision swirling back into focus.

Looking around, she suddenly remembered why she had followed the train of thought she had, and felt her stomach drop. In the distance, the Burrow stood tall with its seven storeys swaying precariously in the wind. It had always amazed her that the house had never fallen down, or suffered any serious damage during the harsh change of seasons. But magic was magic and the unorthodox building was a testament to that.

Hugging her coat tighter to her body, she gulped, looking back from the house to Sirius. "No," she said honestly, biting her lip to stop her teeth from chattering. "But I suppose I have no choice in the matter, do I?" she sighed irritably, kicking up a patch of snow.

"Well, you could always stay out here and freeze to death," he replied casually, glancing around at the snow covered field. "But that's not really an option is it?"

"I don't know, it's looking pretty good from where I'm standing," she snapped sarcastically, rubbing her arms in an attempt to keep herself warm.

"Right you are," he chuckled, pulling her against him and encircling his arms around her waist. Normally she would have scooted away, or told him where to go. But the warmth his body provided against the cold drowned out whatever comment she was about to make. "I guess the Burrow's fireplace and Molly's cooking is of no comparison to a cold wintry death, then?" he asked, laughing quietly in her ear.

"Oh, shut up!" she huffed, slapping his arm as it wound tighter around her waist.

"And this, how you treat your poor undeniably loveable friend, who has only the best of intentions at heart?" a look of feigned shock and hurt spread across his face and she couldn't help but laugh.

"You really are a drama queen, aren't you?" she laughed, grabbing his hand and weaving herself out of his embrace.

"Till my dying day, love," he laughed, pulling her toward the house. "Now come on, I'm hungry and the food will be getting cold,"

"Sirius," she sighed. "You know dinner won't be ready till seven, Molly just insists we get here before hand,"

"But there is always the chance that dinner _might_ be ready earlier," he argued, a playful pout on his face.

"I highly doubt that," rolling her eyes, she sighed in exasperation, resigned to the fact that Sirius was like a child when it came to meal time.

"But it could," he persisted.

"Yes, I suppose it could," there was no point in arguing with him further, it would only result in him pestering her until her nerves frayed and she snapped.

He really was a master of manipulation. He knew what buttons to press to get a rise out of her, and he would continue to push them until she agreed with what he said. Normally she would have argued with him and played along, but she wasn't really in the mood considering the situation. It felt as though she was walking to her death. The closer the door got, the harder it became to breathe. Her heart was beating rapidly and her pulse racing. She tried, albeit in vein, to hide the overwhelming onslaught of emotions that attacked her already shot nerves as the Burrow became too close for comfort.

"It'll be alright," looking up, she realised they'd stopped and Sirius was staring at her, eyes softened in understanding. They were standing at the front door, bursts of loud rumbustious laughter seeping through the wood to greet them.

"Thanks," she smiled weakly, nodding her head to let him know that she was ready.

"Well, it's not too late to turn back now. I mean sure I might have a few objections to the whole wintry death thing, but if you want t – "

"Just knock already," she laughed, shaking her head in exasperation. Silently, she was pleading with him to do anything but.

Hours could have passed and she wouldn't have noticed anything above the pounding of her heart. She wanted run, to just run away until all her fears and the complexity of her life just faded into the background. Sirius wouldn't stop her, come after her maybe, but he wouldn't stop her. His eyes saw more than most and it was uncanny the way he seemed to know the right thing to say every time her world took a dive. He'd fast become one of her closet and best friends and she knew that if she were to run, he wouldn't stop her. But she wouldn't run, no matter how badly she wanted to, she wouldn't – she couldn't. She'd made a promise and tonight would not be the night her word became unreliable.

There was a scurry of feet behind the door and before she had time to prepare herself, it was flung open. "Auntie Mya!" was all she heard before crashing to the ground, a tiny pair of hands wrapped tightly around her waist.

She winced. "Hello James," ruffling the little boy's hair affectionately, she looked up at the sandy haired boy standing in the door way, streaks of silver, red and blue flashing rapidly through his hair. "Teddy, a little _help_ please?" she pleaded quietly.

"Aunt Hermione can't breathe," Teddy said in a sing song voice, his honey coloured eyes flashing to blue mischievously. "And if she can't breathe then she can't come inside and if sh – "

"She can't come inside, she can't give you your present," a second voice finished, but she didn't have to look to know it belonged to Remus.

James pulled back wide eyed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "You won't gives me my present Auntie Mya?" he asked, his lower lip beginning to tremble.

"Actually, your Uncle Remus has your present, he's just teasing you," she replied soothingly, looking up to smirk at her old friend. "Why don't you ask him where it is?"

It took only a moment for the little boy to pull himself up and scramble over to his Uncle. "Where is its?" he asked excitedly.

She saw the glint in Remus' eyes and knew immediately what he was up to, but was surprised by what he said. "You're Uncle Ron has it, but he doesn't know where," he replied, crouching down to look James in the eye. Normally he turned the tables on her.

"If he has its, then why doesn't he knows where its is?" James asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's hidden on him," he whispered, pointing covertly to where Ron was standing, shoulders slouched, a defeated look on his face. "But you can't let him know he has it, or he'll take it from you,"

"So ids a secret present?!" the little boy squealed excitedly.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yep, now off you go tiger," she laughed, ruffling his hair and pushing herself up off the ground, dusting the snow off her coat.

James scurried off toward Ron, his eyes wide with excitement. She loved James as if he was her own, but the kid was like a bloody bulldozer. It was amazing the amount of strength that little body held, especially when he never failed to sweep, or rather knock her off her feet.

"So, Remus, Teddy, how have you been?" she asked, shrugging off her coat while Sirius unwrapped her scarf.

"Good," Remus replied with a nonchalant shrug. Narrowing her eyes, she looked shrewdly at him, knowing a lie when she saw one.

"Teddy?" turning her attention to the eight year-old, she smiled brightly at him as she took in his features for the millionth time.

Teddy was an odd but charming mixture of his parents. He had Tonks' sharp features but Remus' lithe bone structure. The sandy hair of his father was often streaked with at least three different colours a week and his father's honey brown eyes glinted with different colours depending on what mood he was in. Teddy was a shy boy but the mischievous streak that had just begun to run rampant in him, was starting to overshadow that. He loved books, something she was particularly delighted about, and he had a love of Quidditch where his father did not. Remus and Teddy were an odd pair, but they were in perfect sync with one and other, that she could only imagine what it would have been like if Tonks had survived the war.

"Great!" he exclaimed, smiling brightly at his father whose shoulders seemed to droop a little. "Dad finally caved and got me my first broom!"

She couldn't help but laugh. No wonder Remus looked so glum. "And how is it?" she asked politely, knowing that Teddy would have been downtrodden if she hadn't asked.

Remus visibly gulped. "Fast," Teddy said excitedly. "Uncle Ron said he'd help me out a bit when he has the time,"

"He did, did he?" she asked, wincing a little as her voice came out choked. She was over Ron, she'd accepted that their relationship was over but the sound of his name still hurt, much more than it should have.

"Yep," he said proudly, opening his mouth to continue. "He said that he'd teach me a few tricks and he sai –"

"That's enough Teddy," Remus cut in, throwing her an apologetic look before ushering his son off to help Molly in the kitchen. "I'm sorry Hermione," he said quietly after Teddy was out of ear shot.

Hermione sighed. "It's fine, really," she smiled weakly at him. "I've got to get used to it sometime,"

"Still, it has got to be hard," he reasoned, smiling slightly, pronouncing the freshly healed scars on his face. "If you don't mind me asking, how have you been?"

"Good," she said simply, turning to smile at Sirius who was standing silently to her left, leaning against the wall casually. "Actually, I've bought a bookstore in Hogsmead and Sirius and I have been doing it up. Hopefully we will be finished by tomorrow night considering I plan to open on Wednesday. It's actually been quite fun, doing the place up, when you don't take into account the amount of mess we make in the process," she laughed, poking Sirius in the side.

"Hey, you started it!" Sirius exclaimed, pushing himself off the wall and wrapping his arms around her waist playfully. "You said I sounded like your mother," he pouted, scrunching his nose up momentarily in disgust.

"Yes, well, you _did_ sound like her," she reasoned, smiling despite herself.

"Well," he said, laying his head on her shoulder. "This conversation seems similar, I wonder if it will end the same," he threatened playfully, eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Yes, well, preferably not," she gulped, thinking back to the torment his hands could inflict.

Remus coughed, clearing his throat. "And _why_ would it be preferable that _it_ didn't end the same?" he asked, eyes thinning as they landed on his best friend.

"Sirius knows my secret," she whispered covertly, noticing the protective look in Remus' eyes. He needed to be reassured, to know that she was fine and that Sirius wasn't taking advantage of her situation. "He found out that I was ticklish," at this she turned to glare playfully at the black haired man. "And the git used it to his advantage," she laughed, turning back to look at Remus. She held back a sigh of relief when she saw his features soften.

Remus had been there for her during the war when her world was at its darkest. He had understood her pain, the gaping hole her father's death had left in her heart. His words had been comforting and full of understanding, encouraging her to venture out of the library she had holed herself up in. Harry and Ron had tried to talk to her, but she couldn't stand their sympathy. She hadn't wanted their pity, just their understanding. In a way, Remus had gotten through to her where no one else could. He had been just like her – alone. Tonks' death had nearly destroyed him and the man hadn't been able to look at Teddy for days. She had been there for him, encouraging him to see his son, while he was there for her. They'd become close friends and Hermione could honestly say that she wouldn't have wanted it to turn out any other way.

"Well I suppo – "

"Hermione!" Mrs Weasley's voice echoed loudly about the room, a warm smile playing on her lips as she made her way toward them. The room had fallen deathly silent and even though these were her friends, she couldn't help but feel nervous. "Why didn't you tell us you were here?!" she cried happily, pulling her into a warm but bone crushing embrace.

Hermione coughed. "Oh, Sirius and I were just catching up with Remus," her face was starting to turn purple, but it seemed that Molly wouldn't be relenting any time soon.

She knew that Molly had, in a way, blamed herself for the disintegration of her and Ron's relationship. Apparently it was her failings as a mother that caused Ron to cheat on her and not the fact that he couldn't keep it in his pants. Hermione had tried to tell the older woman that is was no ones fault but Ron's. But no matter how many times she said it, the Weasley matriarch refused to believe that she hadn't been at some fault. Her other children had turned out fine, Ron included despite his faults, but Molly couldn't see it. The whole family had tried to talk sense into the older woman, telling her that it wasn't her fault. In the end, Hermione couldn't help but think that tonight was perhaps an attempt to reconcile and put the past behind them. The problem was, she didn't think she could.

"Molly, your suffocating the girl," she heard Arthur's voice before she saw him and was silently grateful as the portly woman let go immediately, gushing her apologies.

"I'm fine Molly," she replied soothingly, a warm smile playing on her lips. "Now, is there anything Sirius and I can help you with?" she asked, elbowing Sirius in the stomach when he opened his mouth to protest.

"No, no, you're _guests_," Molly exclaimed in admonishment. "Just relax, I've got everything under control," she insisted, shaking her head in emphasis. "Now run along, dinner is almost ready,"

Looking at her watch in confusion, Hermione frowned when she saw the time; it was only 6:20. "Dinner's early," she commented offhandedly, scowling at the smug expression on Sirius' face.

"Yes, I thought a bit of a change might be good. Charlie has an early start in the morning and I didn't want him to be too tired," the red haired woman explained. "Now, dinner won't cook itself, so you better make the rounds and let me worry about the food," smiling warmly, she ushered them further into the house before making her way back to the kitchen.

Sirius grinned. "I thought dinner was at seven?" with a scowl, she turned her back to him and stalked toward an empty armchair.

She knew he had followed her and didn't have to look up to know he was standing there, grinning like a madman. Molly had _never_ served dinner before seven o'clock! It was always a well structured routine; pre-dinner drinks at six, dinner at seven, dessert seven-thirty with coffee and tea at eight. They had never strayed from the schedule before, but tonight just had to be the night that she decided to do things a little differently.

"Oh, shut up!" she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest angrily.

Sirius smirked. "I asked a simple question," he replied casually, leaning down to plop himself on the floor beside her legs.

"Yeah, well you were gloating," she pouted, resisting the urge to whack the back of his head.

"You've no proof," he said lazily, tilting his head back to look at her, legs stretched out in front of him.

"But I can get proof," she argued.

"How?"

"Veritaserum," she replied haughtily.

"A tad extreme don't you think?" a new voice interrupted, one she'd rather not hear.

She grimaced; it was Ron. She wanted to scream, slap him, or simply run and hide, but fought each and every urge for the sake of others. The room had become somewhat silent, a few voices rising here and there, but for the most everyone remained quiet. They were waiting. Deep down she knew that they only had the best of intentions, but couldn't find the strength to hide the angry scowl that spread across her face. Part of her wanted to tell them to mind their own business; the other part, her rational side, won out.

Gritting her teeth, she fought the wave of emotions that washed over her. Unshed tears marred her eyes, but she refused to cry. She was stronger than what they gave her credit for. Tears had been shed, unhealthy amounts of chocolate consumed and at least a dozen empty tissue boxes thrown in the trash. She had had her time to grieve and now she was ready to move forward. Molly and the others thought she was fragile, about ready to break, and maybe that was true. But she didn't need to be treated like a piece of glass. She was stronger than that.

"Maybe," she replied in a clipped tone, leaning forward to lay a hand on Sirius' shoulder. She could practically feel the anger emanating from him.

"Hermione," he started, a desperate need in his voice. She wanted to look up, to look him in the eyes but knew that the moment she did, she'd lose what control she had. "Hermione please, _look at me_,"

Shaking her head, she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop the tears from falling. Her eyes were trained on the stairwell and she refused to let them stray even a little. When they'd first arrived, she couldn't help but search the sea of red hair for his face. It was an old habit and one she was having serious trouble breaking. Her eyes had landed on him for only a second, but when James had thrown himself at her, she'd lost sight of him. The second time she saw him had been when Remus had sent the young Potter on his secret mission. But if she looked up now, well she didn't know what she'd do.

She had seen the dark circles under his eyes, the unshaven stubble on his face. He'd been a mess. She didn't want to imagine that it was because of her, but found it hard not to. After everything that had happened, he had still wanted to marry her. Maybe it was out of convenience, or because it was the easy thing to do. He had wanted to marry her, but the truth was she hadn't wanted to marry him. It had taken her a few chocolate induced hazes to realise that and now that she had finally come to realise the truth, she didn't want to break what little resolve she had by looking at him. She knew it would be inevitable, they were a part of each others lives no matter how much she wished they weren't. She would have to face him one day and maybe that day was today. But if she could prolong the inevitable if only for a minute or two, then she would.

"I just want to talk," she heard him say quietly. "Hermione, can you jus –"

"Obviously you've taken one too many bludgers to the head because it's quite obvious that she _doesn't_ want to talk to _you_," Sirius barked, the venom in his voice making her wince.

"What the hell would you know?!" Ron screamed in protest and she didn't have to look up to know his face was red in anger.

She should put a stop to this now, before things got out of control. She should stand up and tell them that they were acting like children, but found she couldn't. She couldn't move, not her arms, not her legs, her mouth. Her eyes were glued to the spot she had chosen earlier and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't do anything. All tangible feeling had left her; she wanted to do something to stop them but she just couldn't.

"I know a hell of a lot fucking more than you do!" Sirius retorted, standing up so abruptly that her knees sprang to the side, hitting the side table painfully. She winced at the pain but said nothing.

"Like fucking hell you do!" Ron screamed, his voice dripping with unrestrained anger.

She could hear James crying in the background and fought the urge to run over to him. The room was silent except for the two men who stood a hairsbreadth away from each other, only anger, hate and resentment in their eyes. She could hear Remus in the background gently ushering the children upstairs while Molly cast numerous silencing charms around the room. All she could feel was guilt at knowing that the children had been subjected to the scene because of her. They had to witness that because of her. A stray tear escaped, falling down her face.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, stop that incessant screaming this instant," Mrs Weasley's voice shouted, cold and hard. "Think of the children," she continued, berating her second youngest.

"Think of the children?!" he asked, voice laced with sarcasm. "Yes mum, I'll think of the fucking children first shall I? What about me?! My life has g –"

She couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You are nothing but a selfish bastard, Ronald Weasley," she screamed, turning her head to look him dead in the eye. "The whole fucking world does not revolve around you, or haven't you noticed that? Those children do not deserve to hear any of this and I can't help but think that you're the only person who can't see that," she hissed, pointing sharply at the staircase where the children had been moments earlier.

"Hermio –" he started.

"No," she hissed, standing up to glare at him. "Don't you dare try and say you're sorry," his eyes were wide; fear, shock, hurt and anger residing in their blue depths. "Don't you fucking dare," she repeated as his mouth opened, words of regret about to seep out.

She had never been one to swear or use profanity with flippant ease, but something had just snapped.

"Hermione dear, why don't you just calm down a little," Molly suggested warily, eyes wide in horror at the turn of events.

"No, Molly, I don't think I will," she replied, eyes boring into the blue opposite.

Ron paled. "Maybe you should listen to mu –"

"Don't you dare tell her what to do!" Sirius yelled, face contorted in anger.

"Don't you fucking try and tell _me_ what to do!" Ron screamed, moving forward to push Sirius back. Sirius' eyes darkened further, fists clenching and unclenching.

"Well someone has to!" a new voice entered the fray and Hermione was mortified to see it was Ginny.

The red haired siren stomped forward, eyes sparked in obvious anger. Ginny was a force to be reckoned with, more so when she was pregnant. At four months, Hermione could just see the tiny bulge beginning to show and immediately fear struck her. Ginny was pregnant and stress was the last thing she needed.

"Stay out of this Ginny, it has nothing to do with you," Ron seethed, turning around to glare at his sister.

"It has everything to do with me!" Ginny screamed, shrugging off Harry's hand to stalk toward her brother. "Hermione is my friend!"

"Well, she's my fiancée!" he retorted.

That did it.

"I am not your fucking fiancée, Ronald," she screamed, eyes welling up. "You lost any right to call me that the moment I gave you my ring back. Don't you understand that it's over? I can't do this anymore Ron. It hurts, it fucking hurts just standing here, looking at you. Why can't you just leave me alone?!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

"Because I love you," he pleaded desperately.

"But I don't love you!" she hissed, pushing him back roughly. "Not anymore Ron. I don't love you, I can't love you because it hurts too much," the tears fell freely, her voice quiet but echoing around the room.

Ron blanched. "You don't mean that," he whispered in a low voice, fear in his eyes.

"That's just it, Ron," she sighed, a sad, bitter smile on her lips. "I do,"

Silence reigned.

"I'm sorry Molly, but I think I'll take a rain check on dinner," she said quietly, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Turning around, she looked up at Sirius who nodded his head in understanding. She didn't wait for an answer from the Weasley matriarch before grabbing her coat and walking out the door, Sirius hot on her heels. _Maybe a wintry death wouldn't be so bad_, she thought sullenly, grabbing Sirius' hand before apparating home.


	11. Author's Note

First of all, I apologise. This isn't an update. Sorry!

As most of you will be able to tell, I have been absent for quite a while now. I wrote all of my stories back when I was eighteen and going through a bit of a rough patch. I am so unbelieveably grateful and amazed by the amount of support all of my stories have received. The fact that my coping mechanism has created something that so many people have enjoyed is so very humbling.

For some unknown reason, I had the urge to look at all my old stories last night. It was amazing what I found. People were still reading and reviewing after three years! I couldn't even fathom why. Surely my writing wasn't that spectacular. I've seen my writing, so it wasn't a stretch to believe.

I didn't even recognise my own writing when I read a snippet of some of my old works. I stopped writing three years ago. University was the main reason, and while I love uni and all that I have learned, it saddens me that my writing has suffered as a result.

It humbles me that people have continued to enjoy my stories. So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing. I don't think you realise what it means to me, as an author, to know that even after three years my writing is still being enjoyed by others.

Cheers guys,

Tears of Ebon-Grey


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